Undertaker Knows Best
by GrellsLilSecret
Summary: A mysterious cult known as Ambrosia claims to have found the secret to immortality. Then why are there so many dead bodies piling up? And why has this cult's activities led to the Undertaker playing a protective father figure? Constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated.
1. Chapter 1: Cult Ambrosia and the Child R

**Undertaker Knows Best**

**A/N: I had so much fun with my last story, I had to immediately jump into this one. However, this story has less overlapping and the chapters will (probably) be a bit longer so I may not update as quickly. Also, this is the first time I've ever attempted to write Ciel and Sebastian, which was a different experience for me. I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 1: Cult Ambrosia and the Child Reaper**

He sat in the shadows, allowing the darkness to bury him within its velvety folds as he looked out at his followers. A single, flickering candle burned near his right hand, but the meager light it offered was swallowed by the gloom. They would be the beginning that would bring about the end, and he was thankful for their loyalty. In truth, they were ignorant and pathetic. They weren't here seeking higher ideals or even for the good of their fellow man. No, their purposes here were purely for selfish reasons, and there was little redeemable about them as individuals. Still, they served his purposes well and provided him a means to succeed in his mission, so for that he was happy enough with their services. He would put up with their mindless foolishness, for now, as he kept his eyes firmly locked on the ultimate goal.

They called him Asclepius, just as he was instructed of them, although only a few got the reference. He was not Greek nor did he have interest in medicine or healing. His real name, however, would have had no meaning for them. It would have been just another thing for them to forget as they focused on their own selfish desires. Names really have no meaning when you get right down to it. We wish to hear our own names during times of recognition and hope not to do so during chastisement. Names are nothing more than tags. From this point until his eventual end, Asclepius worked as well as anything.

He laced his long fingers together and leaned forward towards the solitary, feeble candle which wavered with his movement. The light spilled until the dark robe he wore which masked any features not hidden by the darkness. The others were similar robes, but they didn't do so to hide their identities. It was only to help them to feel closer in their leader, although the gulf between them was already too broad to ever be crossed. Besides, they had no real identities to speak of other than his followers, so there was nothing for them to hide. "Tonight you will find a new lamb to offer the taste of immortality. If we are worthy, than the sweet nectar shall be perfected and our new eternal lives will be at hand. If not, then we must keep striving. We much reach the plateau of faith where death no longer can touch us." He paused and picked up a golden goblet that had been setting by his left hand. It winked in the dim light as all eyes turned towards the goblet. "Let us all drink of the ambrosia!" he shouted.

Each of the other members held up their left hands as if they also had goblets in their grasp. "Drink of the ambrosia!" they cried in unison.

Their ritual finished, each of the followers stood up and filed out of the musty room in a straight, orderly fashion. Asclepius watched them lead, but not as the concerned father figure the others considered him. In truth, he felt contempt for the weak-minded fools who had bought into his propaganda. In the end, he would give them exactly what they were seeking, but he couldn't help but wonder how those fools would react if they knew the real reason for their actions.

The simpletons were seeking immortality. He was chasing death.

((X))

It was a rather peaceful morning at Phantomhive Manor as Sebastian went about his daily tasks. He honestly had no particular preference in peace and quiet or a change in routine. Typically he could work through both scenarios with ease and precision, and he would simply do whatever was needed of him. In fact, he knew that the servants of his very manor often held him in high esteem for that ability, but that didn't really affect him one way or another. One thing he could never understand about humans were their need for affirmation from others. When Sebastian did anything, he enjoyed putting forth his best effort simply because he felt that any job worth doing was worth doing right, but he essentially still did it for himself. However, he had seen far too many humans who performed complicated assignments all in the hopes of a crumb of praise or the brief treat of a smile. Not only was it illogical, it was a waste of perfectly good energy that could be applied to some other necessary task.

Quietly, he walked down the hall, thankful that the bumbling servants, whose talents were far better suited to other tasks rather than their current jobs, were staying out his way for a change. The tea cart rolled smoothly until Sebastian reached the closed door to the study. Knocking lightly, he heard Ciel's distracted voice telling him to enter, and he opened the door to push the cart inside.

"I have your afternoon tea, young master," Sebastian greeted, "and a letter from the queen."

At the mention of the letter, Ciel's head snapped up as his attention was tore away from the document he had been scanning with boredom. His visible eye flashed as something stirred within the blue depths of the alert iris, but the emotion itself was difficult to read. Ciel tried so hard to be seen as an adult, and there were times he was successful in speech, mannerism, and actions, yet there was always that part of him that was still a child that sometimes manage to peek out from behind the curtains in that eye. The boy had tried to leap over that invisible boundary into adulthood but had only manage to toe the line as some part of him wanted to drag him back into the innocent pool of youth.

Sebastian would have never claimed to be any sort of expert when it came to children. Before Ciel, his contact had been limited to a few observations, but he had always assumed them to be small adults. The only difference he had really noted, other than them being needier, was that children were brutally honest and cruel. It wasn't that there were any crueler or more honest than their adult counterparts, but they hadn't yet learned all the social conformities and how to wear a mask of politeness to hide disgust or contempt. In that sense, Sebastian almost preferred children over adults because of their inability to hide how they felt. Almost.

Ciel took the letter and read it quickly. "There's a cult known as Ambrosia," he stated, after devouring the letter's contents, "located just outside of Woodham Walter. They've been kidnapping locals. They've believed they've discovered the secret to immortality, but all of their kidnapped victims have been killed."

"Doesn't appear their secret is working then," remarked Sebastian with a slight smile, "Unless sacrifices are part of it."

Ciel briefly touched the patch covering his marked eye in what appeared to be an unconscious manner. "Don't they know that no one lives forever?" he mused softly as a slightly melancholy look took possession of his features. As almost as quickly as it had appeared, the expression was gone as a mask of cold indifference took its place. "They'll be meeting again tonight at sundown in an abandoned farmhouse," he said, "We're to put an end to the cult and to the leader."

"Not a very secret cult if so many know all that about it," Sebastian stated.

Leaning back in his chair, Ciel closed his eyes as if attempting to recite information learned by rote. "Apparently almost everyone in the area knows all about this cult and, but they are afraid. The few who have done or said anything about it has wound up dead in some mysterious manner. Besides, there seems to be some rumors about the farmhouse being used. Supposedly there was other mysterious occurrences there some years ago where an entire family was found slaughtered. No one has dared to step foot near it for years." He sighed deeply, "I'm sick of dealing with cults," he murmured.

"Should we get ready to depart then, young master?" Sebastian asked.

Instead of answering, Ciel opened his eye and looked up at him. "You don't think he has anything to do with this, do you?" he questioned.

"He, sir?"

"You know bloody well who I mean!" snapped Ciel, "The Undertaker!"

Indeed Sebastian had known who Ciel had meant, but he couldn't resist annoying his young master if only slightly. They had seen Undertaker only a few days prior while walking down the familiar streets. Neither one had been prepared when he had suddenly spoke to them from his wagon. To everyone else nearby, he no doubt looked the same old, slightly feeble, and quite mad man he had always appeared, but of course they knew better. They had seen him as his true self, and Sebastian could still feel the pain of the ancient's death scythe imbedded deeply through his chest. Since this body wasn't his true form, it bore no scar from the encounter, but there were times it still ached and throbbed.

Undertaker had called out a casual and cheerful hello as he passed, and Ciel would have no doubt fallen backwards in shock if Sebastian hadn't caught him. Sebastian himself had actually felt a little thrown off balance by the rogue reaper's sudden appearance. Over the next few days, Sebastian had done his best to monitor the situation. There had been a few more reapers in the area, no doubt confronting Undertaker, but then they simply had left and Sebastian had no idea of the actual outcome. He did realize that he needed to be more careful knowing that someone so powerful was back in the picture.

"I don't know," Sebastian said as he considered the situation, "While there are some similarities, especially since this seems centered on a cult, the introduction of some sort of supposed immortality formula seems quite a bit different from his Bizarre Dolls. I wouldn't rule out the possibility, but I have my doubts of his involvement. At least, his direct involvement."

This answer seemed to satisfy Ciel who quickly stood up and stepped away from his desk. "I suppose we need to find this abandoned farmhouse," he stated, "Come on, Sebastian."

Sebastian bowed slightly. "Yes, master," he agreed, but he glanced back at the tea cart setting by the desk as they left the room. It was such a shame that the tea would be left behind to grow cold and undrinkable. He had picked out such a nice blend too.

((X))

The sun was slowly setting, setting the horizon ablaze with lovely, fiery hues as night was just beginning to toss her starry blanket over the sky. Grell had always felt at home in the night – being that spark of color among all the shadows and darkened alleyways, but there was still something about sunset. Perhaps it was the predominance of the many shades of red. It held the promise of excitement and passion, which were both things for which she always searched. Of course, on this occasion, the beautiful backdrop only served as contrast for the extremely boring assignment.

Will had sent her here, out in the middle of nowhere, to gather quite a few souls. Not only was it going to be dull, but it was also going to be tedious. Multiple reapings were also the worst, and that was especially true when you had to work solo. The only saving grace was that one of the individuals that was supposed to die here tonight, a Mr. Guy Moore to be precise, had no listed cause of death. That happened so very rarely, and it had piqued her interest although it seemed like little consolation on a night so dull. With a rather poetic grace, she leaped to the top of a tall tree as she looked at where her particular services would be needed on this night.

The crumbling farmhouse did little to excite the senses or tease the imagination. It was a rather plain affair of wood and stone that seemed to be crumbling inwards as if the structure was slowly trying to devour itself from within. As Grell looked, the front door flew open and she saw something that definitely held her interest. Framed in the doorway like a lost piece of art, Sebastian stood carrying that miserable brat in his arms. A dangerous smile curled about her face. This assignment just got a lot more interesting.

If William had any idea that Sebastian might make an appearance, she doubted he would have given her this assignment, even though she was probably one of the few active reapers that could handle the demon. She thought, or at least hoped, that Will was jealous although her supervisor actually had little to worry about. She liked Sebastian's appearance, even though she knew that it was little more than decorative wrapping disguising a much darker present within, and she liked the danger he presented. He was poisonous, forbidden fruit – delectable to the eye but deadly if ingested. For her, the thrill of her encounters was about the chase and watching Sebastian's cool demeanor crack under her flirtatious assault. Anything else between them were nothing more than daydreams, and she never actually thought about anything more serious. Now, Will was an entirely different story.

William wasn't here, however, and she was ready to play another round of her favorite game. Suppressing a laugh, she leapt dexterously onto the roof just behind Sebastian, who so far hadn't seemed to notice her. Before she could make her next move, however, Sebastian suddenly took off at a speed even her eyes had trouble following. Before she had any time to feel disappointed or even cheated, the building on which she had been positioned suddenly exploded.

She felt herself being propelled upwards by a blast of hot air, but she felt no actual pain from the explosion itself. Calmly, she started to turn in midair so that she could escape the shockwave and return to the earth, when something very sharp and painful pierced the back of her neck. It felt vaguely familiar, but just as she recognized the sensation it was too late. She didn't even have a chance to scream.

((X))

Night had fully fallen, and it was unusually quiet. There were no chirping of crickets of the deep croaking of frogs serenading the moon. The few visible clouds didn't seem to move, almost like they had been tacked into place, and even the wind had stilled as if the Earth itself was holding its breath. It was a night of possibilities and Undertaker couldn't way to see what this night might have in store.

He had traveled farther than usual to perform his services on this day, but the young lady who had requested his help had been quite a dear about it, and he never could turn down a lady in need. Besides, he had no trouble traveling long distances at night, even if his mule did protest sometimes. One of the men back at the cemetery had actually offered to put him up for the night, stating it was too dangerous for one old man to be traveling alone on these roads. The offer was actually quite generous, but Undertaker had been so amused by the notion that someone thought that he needed protection from the would-be robbers and assorted riff raffs of the night that he burst out laughing. Even with his blurry vision, made more blurry by the tears streaming down his cheeks, he could see the looks of shock on the faces around him slowly morph into fear. This only made it all funnier, and he could only fall back onto his cart helplessly as he grabbed his aching sides as the laughter ripped from him. Finally, he gained control of himself enough to explain, between giggles, that he was fine to travel back to his shop tonight. The man who had made the offer looked more than a little relieved that Undertaker had rejected. No doubt the man had thought he was quite mad with his reaction.

Of course, it never hurt to be just a little mad.

Steadily, he made his way back towards home as the wheels of his wagon turned steadily and sliced through the silence of the night. He found himself humming an old tune he had long since forgotten the words to, as he drove down the road until he came to the site of a recent explosion of sorts. He had heard the explosion earlier, everyone at the services had, but the people he had been around had been far too scared to investigate. He had been curious, but duty called him to stay, so he hadn't a chance to check out the situation until now.

He had seen the old farmhouse earlier today when he had passed it, and he could tell then it wasn't all it had seemed. However, he hadn't been expecting for it to be destroyed before he had a moment to even examine the grounds. There was nothing left but a few floorboards and one far wall. The rest of the house lay in scattered remains about the ground like a puzzle that could never be put back together. As he sat there examined the wreckage, he couldn't help but get the feeling that something was wrong. For one, he could sense a reaper nearby, but it was very faint. Some of the higher level reapers, like himself, could mask their presence but this seemed different. This was more like a reaper who was there but not entirely somehow, which made no sense even in his mind.

Plus, there was something small and white moving in the middle of the debris.

Frowning slightly, he jumped down off of his wagon and moved towards what he soon saw was a very small person dressed in white – probably a child. He walked closer and hunkered down on his knees to bring himself to the eye level of the small figure. "Hello?" he asked.

The child, who had seemingly been unaware of his presence, spun around suddenly at the sound of his voice, and Undertaker gasped loudly. He was close enough to get a fairly good look at the boy before him and there was no mistaken that fiery, untamed hair, fair skin, and large two-toned green eyes. This boy was none other the infamous reaper known as Grell Sutcliff. It made no sense since this child didn't look to be no older than four or five, but Undertaker knew exactly what or rather who he was looking at.

It wasn't that Grell had simply shrunk in height, his face was rounder and his eyes were larger – all indicators that he was truly much younger than before. His beautiful hair was shorter as well and his teeth, although still quite sharp and dangerous, were noticeably smaller. He was still wearing his white shirt and waist jacket, although both hung like an ill-fitting dress on his diminutive form, but his pants and shoes were nowhere to be seen. The lens of his glasses were cracked and shattered, but the frames themselves were still hanging about his neck on the recognizable chain. Undertaker had the sudden wonder why Grell, who was often considered by the other reapers to be a little on the dotty side, was the only one who had the sense enough to have his glasses secured with a chain – especially with the way the others acted like their glasses were so all fired important.

To his surprise, the child reaper lifted his head slightly and sniffed the air towards him. Undertaker realized that now that his ability to see had diminished, Grell was instinctively relying on his other senses. He was smelling to see if Undertaker was a friend or foe, and the ancient couldn't help but smile. It was so odd that the academy was teaching the modern reapers such heavy reliance on sight and their glasses when there seemed to be an inborn sense of using all the other senses in conjunction.

"Do you know who I am?" Undertaker asked.

Grell shook his head quickly. He looked both a little scared and unsure, but Undertaker was rather pleased that he wasn't crying as would most children his age – or what Undertaker supposed to be his age. While it could have simply been the fact that he was a reaper, he couldn't help but think it had more to do with Grell's inner strength. He had always liked the little spitfire, and couldn't help that they had more than a little in common.

"How did you get here?" questioned Undertaker, trying to sound gentle.

Grell shrugged his shoulders. "I'm lost," he admitted in a youthful voice that tugged at Undertaker's heart.

"Well, I'll help you find your way," offered Undertaker, "Take my hand."

"I don't know you," Grell retorted, looking at the hand and back up to Undertaker's face in an unsure manner.

"You can call me Uncle Undie." He actually had no idea where the proposed name had come from, but it seemed suitable at the moment, "And I saw you smell the air around me earlier. You can tell that I'm a friend."

"Maybe," Grell said uncertainly. After a few moments of hesitation, he slowly put his tiny, right hand in Undertaker's before placing his left thumb in his mouth. It was a somewhat infantile action, but he supposed that this young, innocent version of the red reaper should be allowed to indulge in at least a few childish behaviors.

Undertaker started to lead him back to the wagon, but he realized that the child had no shoes on his small feet. Without thinking, he reached down and picked Grell up to carry him on his hip. Grell seemed surprised at first, but then he laid his head over on Undertaker's shoulder, the thumb never leaving his mouth. Within minutes, he had fallen asleep.

He looked so innocent and fragile, but Undertaker couldn't help but wonder how Grell had ever managed to get into this state.


	2. Chapter 2: Child Care and Assumptions

**Chapter 2: Child Care and Assumptions **

Originally, Undertaker had planned simply driving home through the night and sleeping the late the next morning. After all, he had nothing to fear, and he rather liked the nighttime hours, but that was before he had a tiny, rather tired, reaper in his care. While it would probably have been okay simply to let Grell sleep as they traveled, Undertaker found himself uncommonly worried about the redhead's safety. After all, he had no idea how he had managed to be turned into a child, and he certainly wasn't able to defend himself as he had in the past. Turning his cart around, he made his way back towards the town he had just left.

He was able to find a small inn, and he hoped that lodging wouldn't be too expensive since he never carried much in the way of money with him. The large door was locked, so he knocked and waited several moments until he heard the bolt being disengaged from the other side.

The door opened slightly and a girl, holding a ragged candled, looked out at them. She was an unfortunately plain individual with unremarkable brown hair and a rather square shaped face. It was difficult to determine even an estimate of her age from appearance. Her face gave her the appearance of a young woman of around eighteen or nineteen, but the dull twinkling in her hazel eyes seemed old and worn – like someone who had already seen and experienced enough for an entire lifetime.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said in a thick, foreign accent, "We've already closed for the night. Papa has gone to bed." She started to close the door, but Undertaker grabbed it quickly and firmly. His smile, and the part of his face that was visible was calm, but the long fingers that held the door was strong and forceful.

"I didn't mean to stop by so late," he explained softly. He let a little of his crazy, old man disguise melt just enough so that she could tell he was sincere. "But the wee one here is tired."

For the first time her gaze drifted towards the still sleeping Grell nestled in the crook of his arm. The slightest hint of a smile jerked at the corner of her mouth as her eyes lit up at the sight of the child. It was still a stretch to call her pretty, but the look upon her face was both warm and appealing. She stepped forward to gently touch Grell's hair, and Undertaker saw the ghost of a fading bruise on her chin.

"Such a pretty boy," she cooed, "Is he yours?"

"He's my godson," he replied, thinking quickly, "His parents are feeling poorly, so I agreed to take the boy back to London with me for a few days, but it's gotten so late."

"It is late," the girl conceded, as she bit lightly at her chapped lips before risking a quick glance behind her. "Papa is asleep, and he'd be angry if I let you come in, so you must be quiet. There is a room that you can use. It's a little dusty, but I made the bed up this morning. You'll have to leave at sunrise though, before Papa wakes. Okay?"

"That sounds nice, but how much will be it be for the night? I'm afraid I haven't much coin on me." He was moved at her display of generosity, but he knew that even such kind acts often carried a price.

She shook her head quickly. "No charge for tonight as long as Papa doesn't discover you."

"Thank you…" His voice trailed off as he waited for her name.

"Amelia," she replied, "You can leave your wagon over by the stable. Don't put it inside or someone may tell Papa. It's better for people to think that some traveler just happen to park by the stables than a visitor who was welcomed to park inside."

He thanked her again and guided his mule to the spot she had indicated. When he returned to the door, he saw that she had been waiting for him, although the soft look of fear seemed to say that she was still tempted to turn him away. Without words she turned and walked towards a set of rickety wooden steps as Undertaker followed. He hadn't noticed before because much of her had been hidden by the doorway, but Amelia had a rather thin, fragile build. It almost looked the bones in her wrist might snap each time she took hold of the railing, but she moved with both stealth and determination. While people fascinated Undertaker in general, he found himself more intrigued than usual about the life this boney girl with a youthful, bruised face and ancient eyes. If he hadn't had more pressing matters, he might have inquired and probed a bit, although the girl didn't seem like the type who would open up easily to strangers. In a hallway that had seen far more rodents than guests, she led them to a small room and opened the door.

It was a bit dusty, just as Amelia had said, and the single bed in the room was sagging and old, but there was a genuine warmth the room. This room had seen happiness in times past, although there was a chance it was long before Amelia had taken her first breath. He thanked her politely and waited for her to shut the door before moving over to the bed.

There was a slightly worn blanket on the bed which might have blue or black at one time but had faded to a soft, nearly colorless grey, and it he pulled it down to expose the mattress. He laid Grell on the center of the bed, who only made a soft murmuring noise without waking, before pulling the covers back over him. Grell snuggled deeper under the blanket and brought his knees to his chest as his left thumb found its way back to his mouth. Despite the mystery surrounding the whole situation, Undertaker couldn't but smile at the adorable scene that had unfolded in this dusty little room. Grell was so tiny that the bed seemed to swallow him, but he looked safe and secure. Undertaker wanted to keep it that way.

Crossing the room quietly, he sat down in a creaking chair located next to the window as he kept his attention focused on Grell. There were rarely any born reapers among their kind. All of the original ones, like himself, were sterile as he had never been designed to create life. The current reapers had all been human before, but most of them were just as sterile. They were a few that could reproduce, but only a fraction of them ever did. In an odd way, it was cruel for someone to be born as a reaper. They aged much more slowly than human children, and they would grow up in a realm where there were no other children or anyone even close to their age. There was no real question about simply letting Grell grow up again. Besides the fact that without the same experiences he would never be the exact same Grell that Undertaker found so entertaining, it wouldn't be an enjoyable experience for the young reaper. If it was at all possible, Undertaker had to find some way to bring him back to his proper age.

Musing over these matters, Undertaker felt his eyes grow heavy. Leaning back to make himself as comfortable as he could in the rickety chair and fell asleep.

((X))

Asclepius was not pleased. He had planned everything down the tiniest detail and thought he had prepared for any circumstances. Patient followers, lambs prepared for the slaughter, were waiting to be washed in the fire. They had thought it would lead to their own rebirth into an immortal existence.

They had been such fools.

But then the one they had been waiting for finally came. A child was standing among the rubble with hair the color of blood. He was the secret ingredient to the end of death, and he was so beautiful. Asclepius watched him as night fell, waiting for another group of his followers to join him. He could have moved ahead and secured the child. In fact, he cursed himself now that he hadn't done so, but he had wanted the chance for those foolish mortals to worship their new messiah – the being who would allow them to live forever. He noticed too late that senile, old fool; an obvious traitor to all they believed in. Before Asclepius knew what to do, he saw that traitor pick up the very child he had been waiting on and head back to town. There was nothing he could do but to tell his followers they would have to wait until the next night. He ranted and raved about how their slowness and how it caused this missed opportunity. Leaving them to wallow in their ineptness, he had returned home before he could be missed.

Those fools said they would follow him anywhere, but this was one place they could not go. Upon these floors, even angels feared to tread.

He would wait and watch. It would be late tomorrow before he had another chance, but he wouldn't waste the next opportunity.

((X))

Undertaker awoke, his back slightly stiff from sleeping in a chair, and turned to see the eastern horizon beginning to lighten. He stood up, stretched, and walked over to the bed where Grell was still sleeping. "It's time to get up," Undertaker said softly, gently shaking his shoulder.

Grell let out a complaining grumble and tried to curl up deeper beneath the cover. Undertaker smiled, but he knew that they had to be going, so he shook the boy again. "We have to get up now," he said in a slightly sterner tone.

The diminutive reaper let out another grumble, but this time he sat up and began to rub his eyes with his tiny hands. "It's too early," he mumbled.

"It is early, but we have to be on our way," insisted Undertaker as he helped Grell down. The child stood there, still complaining and rubbing his eyes as Undertaker quickly made the bed and silently left the room.

The morning fog was wet and thick as he carried Grell out to his cart and prepared to leave. He was just climbing up himself when he heard a soft voice nearby.

"Wait," Amelia said.

He turned and saw the young woman standing just behind him, a small bag grasped tightly in her narrow fingers. He couldn't help but notice her trembling fingers were lovely and had a delicate shape. "Yes?" he asked.

"Take this," she requested, handing him the bag, "I thought you might need it."

"Thank you," he said, taking the offered bag without thinking of asking of the contents. The morning light revealed another, far more recent, bruise on her neck. "I also have this." With a soft smile, she walked over and handed Grell a white handkerchief laden with several slice of freshly cut apple. The sight of the treat wiped the last remaining sleep from his eyes as he eagerly reached for handkerchief containing the apples with a giant smile on his face.

"Thanks!" he exclaimed, eagerly biting into an apple slice.

Amelia returned the smile as she reached up and ran her finger along the side of Grell's face, and in that moment she looked as lovely as any creature Undertaker had ever seen. There was a light shimmering in her like a pure, uncut diamond that most probably never even took the time to see beyond the deceptively plain exterior. All too soon the moment had passed as Amelia stepped away. "I'm sorry that I have to rush you," she said, "but Papa will be up soon."

Undertaker nodded. "We thank you for your kindness," he said, as he climbed up and turned his wagon around. He waved a quick goodbye to the girl before leaving and started down the road. Grell turned around and waved enthusiastically, his cheeks round and full with the apples she had given him. Just as they were out of sight of the inn, Undertaker paused for a moment and looked into the small bag she had given him and was shocked to find it held a few pieces of clothing suitable for a child Grell's size.

He looked back, although Amelia and her inn were no longer and sight, and wished again for the opportunity to know her story. There was something that connected her frail, bruised appearance, eyes too old for her years, and this small bag of clothes. Sadly, he realized there was no time to pursue the mystery as he retrieved a small pair of brown, laced boots from the bag.

"Let's see if these fit," he said to Grell.

The redhead regarded the shoes and immediately wrinkled his cute nose. "They're ugly," he proclaimed.

Undertaker chuckled lightly. Grell might have changed in many ways, but he was still obviously picky about his attire and appearance. "We get something better later," he offered, "but let's see if these fits so you can walk around a bit on your own without worrying about the safety of your feet."

Grell nodded, although he looked far from convinced. Undertook put a shoe on his right foot and had him wiggle his toes so he could see if it would work. The shoe was a tad big, but it would work for the moment and would probably be okay with a thick pair of socks. Satisfied, he put on the other shoe and laced both. With that done, he took hold of the reins and started once again for home.

Grell still didn't seem to care for the shoes. He lifted up his legs and looked down at the footwear with a rather disgusted face, but then he just started to kick his legs back and forth lightly. Undertaker watched him closely as they rode for a few minutes in silence. Grell had been too tired to say much the night before, but there definitely some things that needed answering. "So," Undertaker began, "I need to ask you a few things. Is that okay?"

"I guess," Grell answered, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

"Do you know your name?"

"Of course I do! It's Grell Sutcliff!" He actually sounded a bit offended, but Undertaker was just thrilled at how quickly he answered.

"Of course you do," Undertaker agreed, "Do you know my name?"

"You said to call you Uncle Undie."

The ancient nodded. "But do you know who I am? Do you remember if we've ever met before?"

Grell shook his head. "Have we met before?"

Undertaker decided to leave that question unanswered as he moved on, "Now, do you know why you were at that old farmhouse last night?"

The unnaturally youth brow furrowed in concentration. "I…I was lost," he replied quietly.

"I know, but do you remember why you went there to begin with?" In a way, Undertaker hated to press the issue when it was obviously upsetting, but he could tell there was something more unusual than he had initially thought about the situation. Grell certainly looked and even occasionally acted like a young child, but his speech patterns didn't quite measure up to his physical appearance. Verbally, he didn't seem all that much different than he had as an adult, except that he was more direct. Also, it seemed apparent that he was aware that he had forgotten something. While Undertaker couldn't be certain, he had the suspicion that part of Grell still remembered being an adult but that he just didn't have access to those memories just yet.

"I was there…I had to get….something," the young reaper finally managed.

"That's what I thought," Undertaker said, switching his tone so that it was lighter, "Now, tell me – did you ever hear the story of the little mouse that was a princess?"

"How could a mouse be a princess?" Grell asked as he titled his head. A curious light gleamed in his eyes and he began to smile slightly.

"Well, it all started with this farmer and his three sons," began Undertaker, "You see, one day the farmer's sons go to their father and tell him how they all want to find wives. The farmer tells his sons to go out into the woods and for each of them to cut a tree. Whichever which way their tree fell, the son was to go in that direction to seek his wife. The three young men agreed and hurried off to cut down their trees." As he continued, Grell seemed to grow interested in the story and laughed as Undertaker attempted to give each of the characters a distinctive voice. The tiny redhead was especially tickled by the squeaky voice of the little mouse, although Undertaker thought the voice he gave her sounded more like she had sort of disease of throat. Grell couldn't help but laugh each time Undertaker spoke in that voice, and soon the retired reaper was laughing with him. After all, he was never the sort of fellow that passed up the opportunity for a good laugh. By the time the story had ended, they had finally reached their destination.

Inside the Undertaker's shop, it was as dark and gloomy as ever, but it didn't really seem to faze Grell. He complained a little about the dust and the 'spider homes' as he termed the webs, but he wasn't frightened or overly concerned. Perhaps a part of him remembered this place, Undertaker thought to himself as he picked the boy up and sat him up on the two coffins that served as a counter.

"Now, don't you get into any mischief," he warned, "I'm going to pop into the kitchen to make us a bite of food. What would you like to eat?"

Grell opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by the ringing of the bell over the door. "Undertaker," a familiar voice announced, "I need to talk to you."

Undertaker jumped around the counter and in front of Grell, hoping to block him from view as Ceil and Sebastian stepped inside. While he was fairly sure that at least Sebastian suspected that there was someone else there, he would have preferred that the demon not know the identity of his tiny guest. "Young earl," he greeted, "I didn't expect a visit from you." He chuckled in his typical way although deep down he wished that they would leave.

"I didn't want to come back here," Ciel answered with unflinching honesty, "but I don't seem to have much of choice." He straightened his shoulders as he tried to give the appearance of height, although the attempt was in vain. "There's a cult that's been meeting just outside of Woodham Walter called Ambrosia," he explained, "They've been kidnapping and murdering locals. Last night, we thought we'd put an end to the cult, but there have been hand delivered letters received today that seem to say otherwise. The cult has been doing some sort of experiments, so I need to know if there was anything unusual about the victims. We've talked to the officials in the area, but they refuse to say a word."

Undertaker smiled deeply. "So you were the one who blew up that little farmhouse." He chuckled at the surprised look that Ciel failed to mask in time, and was halfway tempted to demand his usual fee just to see the boy squirm a bit. Despite how amusing these encounters could be, today he simply wanted both Ciel and Sebastian to leave so that he could attend to Grell. "I would ask for payment," he began, "but our last encounters have been so amusing that I think I will give you information for free this time. Although, you do have something that belongs to me."

"I will return the lockets to you later," Ciel responded quickly, "I have some questions I would ask about those as well."

Undertaker nodded for later suited him quite well. "I only saw one of the bodies," he said, "a dear girl asked me to take care of her uncle who was one of victims of the cult. There wasn't any marks on him, but he had the most delightfully terrified expression on his face. It truly looked like he was scared to death." He laughed at the description.

"I see," Ciel said simply, doing his best not to show that Undertaker still unnerved him. He seemed to want to say something, but it was as if he didn't know how to put his thoughts into words.

"Forgive us for our assumptions," Sebastian spoke up, "But my young lord was curious whether you had anything to do with this. You must admit there is a certain amount of precedence that would give such a question validity."

Undertaker chuckled. "And why would you assume my involvement? I'm a bit picky when it comes to which cults I associate with."

"Is that so?" Ciel asked, but then his voice trailed off as his visible blue eye grew almost comically large. "That can't be," he began, looking to the side of Undertaker, "I mean… that's impossible…but…is that… Grell?"

Undertaker looked to the side and realized that Grell had turned around to look at the visitors. Even at this size, his unique features made him nearly impossible to identify, and Undertaker inwardly groaned. He turned back to Ciel, half attempted to make up some feeble lie how Grell had finally managed to conceive a child, but the smirk on Sebastian's face made it clear that he knew the truth.

"I thought I had sensed him there last night just before the explosion," Sebastian offered, "It appears that the cult's claims about a secret to immortality might not be as far off as we would have guessed. It does seem like they might have a way to reverse the aging process, at least on reapers."

This was the first time Undertaker had heard anything about a secret to immortality, and he risked another quick glance back towards Grell. Perhaps that did explain why he was now only a child, and also why Ciel had immediately assumed he might be a part of this mystery.

"I think it might be a good idea if we could speak to Grell," Sebastian continued, "He might know the true leader of this cult."

"I'm afraid he's lost all of his memories concerning what happened to him," Undertaker replied, "It won't do any good to talk to him. I've already asked him what happened."

"Still, I would like to talk to him myself," insisted the demon.

Undertaker's face didn't change, but he allowed his voice to take on a dangerous edge. "I know you would like to take a _stab_ at questioning him, but it would really do no good. He doesn't remember." He hadn't spoken in such a manner in many years, but he knew that Sebastian was not above taking advantage of the fact that Grell was all but defenseless in this state. While he was unsure exactly what had happened, he still felt it was his responsibility to protect Grell.

Sebastian didn't flinch, but there was an almost tangible change in the atmosphere. Undertaker knew that Sebastian wasn't precisely in a hurry to face him again in a combative manner, and Undertaker was more than ready to take advantage of this hesitation. It was Ciel who decided to put an end to the tension.

"Let's go, Sebastian," Ciel commanded, before turning his gaze back to Undertaker, "I'll be back later to ask you about the lockets."

"I'll be here," Undertaker sang as a reply. As soon as the two had left however, he swiftly crossed the room and locked the door. He didn't need them to come waltzing back and interrupt him again. He hurried back over to Grell, and was surprised by the look of fear on the small reaper's face. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"That man," Grell answered, "He had a funny smell. I didn't like it."

Undertaker smiled gently as he realized as this was simply more of his basic defenses and instincts. Demons did smell badly to reapers as they were their natural enemies. As an adult, Grell could choose to overlook the odor, but as a child he had no result to purposely engage in dangerous behavior. "Don't worry," he reassured, "I don't think he'll bother us for now. If he does, I'll protect you. Now, how about that food?"

Once again he turned around but, just as before, there was an interruption. A blue-white light lit the room as a portal opened and a tall man stepped forward. Undertaker sighed under his breath, but he managed to flash a smile towards the new visitor. "Why, hello Willy. I weren't expecting you until later."

William T. Spears adjusted his glasses as his gaze drifted from Undertaker to the child version of Grell sitting there rather innocently. "So, it is true," he said in a soft yet rather surprised tone.


	3. Chapter 3: Suggestions and Attacks

**A/N: Sorry I took a few days to post this. I had trouble with migraines.**

**Chapter 3: Suggestions and Attacks**

Undertaker wasn't particularly surprised to see William. Ever since he had returned and had voluntarily reported his location to the current reaper administration, he had been closely monitored. He had the feeling that a few of them wanted his head on a platter for a fascinating experiment they termed a "…gross violation of reaper rules and conduct." The only thing that really saved him was the fact he was retired and most rules that he had violated concerned active reapers. Besides he was still considered a legend among their kind, although he personally didn't think anyone should put much stock in that. In the end, he had agreed to three terms in exchange for his continued freedom. First, he would see a counselor in the reaper realm twice a month, which was something he rather enjoyed. The counselor was a handsome woman with short, dark hair and sharp eyes, but he loved trying to make her blush with his exaggerated confessions. Secondly, he would allow himself to be monitored by both regular and surprise visits from William, which he also didn't mind. Finally, he had given a written statement that he would never again interfere with scheduled deaths and the records from the individuals of said deaths. That one made him laugh. While he had no immediate plans to do so at this moment, a piece of paper wasn't really much of determent for him. They had also wanted him to give up his death scythe, but he had informed the higher council that he had lost it. Of course this was a lie, and he didn't really think it fooled anyone. He would rather lose his head than his scythe, and he had almost done that very thing in the past. In fact, he even had the scars to prove it, but there was no evidence that he hadn't actually lost his precious scythe. He was a bit surprised they had dropped the matter so quickly, and very little surprised him these days. Now finding Grell in his current state did give him a bit of a start, and William seemed to be having the same reaction as he stood there openly staring at a very small version of the infamous red reaper.

"So, it is true," William said.

"True?" Undertaker asked, walking over, instinctively moving closer to Grell.

"Sutcliff has been turned into a child," William clarified as he smoothed over his once obvious feelings of surprise so that he presented a rather calm, and collect persona. "It is hard to believe, but now I see the evidence for myself."

"How did you know about it?" questioned Undertaker, "I only found him late last night."

William raised his eyes. "I was informed by my immediate supervisor," he answered immediately.

"Good news travels fast," Undertaker mumbled. Grell looked up at him uncertainly for a moment before leaning forward and sniffing the air towards William.

"What is he doing?" demanded William.

"He's trying to see if he can trust you. Since he can't rely on his eyes, he's using his other senses." Undertaker looked up sharply. "And don't speak about him as if he isn't here. You can still talk to him directly. Right Grell?"

Grell looked over at Undertaker and nodded, but William's attention seemed to be elsewhere. "Where are his glasses? It's a violation for a working reaper to be without their glasses." He almost seemed more distressed by the missing eyewear than anything else, but Undertaker sincerely doubted that was the case.

Undertaker chuckled. "I don't think he's particularly ready for active duty," he said, "Unless you're in the habit of employing children." Reaching into his robe, he retrieved the broken glasses and handed them to William. "The frames are fine, but the lenses are cracked. These don't fit him at the moment, anyway."

William took the glasses. "I'll get these repaired immediately. Do you have any idea how this happened to him? I've never heard of anything like this before."

"Nor have I," agreed Undertaker, "Now, Mr. Michaelis seems to think it might have something to do with a cult that seems fixated on immortality."

"That demon was here!" William shouted. Again, his focus seemed to be the wrong thing.

"Yes, although I must admit I was rather surprised to see him. It seems the young earl is investigating this cult, Ambrosia I believe the name is, and blew up a farmhouse last night where some of the members we're meeting. I found Grell in the ruins of that farmhouse."

"There were eleven people who was supposed to die in that farmhouse," William explained, "Ten from an explosion and one man of unknown causes. Sutcliff was to collect those souls and investigate why the one man had cause of death listed. When no report was filed nor records processed by this morning, I was going to investigate the situation when my direct supervisor suddenly appeared in my doorway. I've only met him face to face a handful of times, and it was always in his office. Usually, I only get memos from him or he has one of his assistants deliver messages. If that wasn't surprising enough, he informed me that Sutcliff was now a small child and he was in your care. I would have been here sooner, but I've spent all this time before the council trying to explain a situation I don't even understand." He paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So you say this cult has some fixation on immortality? Do you think that's what happened here?"

Undertaker shrugged. "That makes as much sense as anything else, I suppose. Now, you said that Grell was supposed to collect 11 souls from that place. When I came across Grell, I saw no bodies in the area nor did I sense any nearby."

"We can't find a trace of the bodies or their souls," William replied, "Do you think that demon had anything to do with it?" He spat out the word demon as if it left a foul taste on his tongue.

"I don't think so. He was very keen on talking with Grell directly to see if he knew anything about the leader of the cult."

Anger flashed in William's eyes. "You didn't let that creature near Sutcliff, did you?" he demanded, "He can't defend himself in this state."

Undertaker laughed. "Now, Willy," he began, "How crazy do you think I am?"

William blinked a few times and the expression on his face made it clear he had no desire to answer that particularly question. He looked so uncertain that the older reaper couldn't resist letting a few more chuckles to slip free and bounce about the room. "No," Undertaker finally answered, "I wouldn't do that. I actually had to let a little threat slip in regards of my abilities before he would be deterred, but I would never put little Grell in that situation."

The dispatch supervisor visibly relaxed. "I'm pleased to hear that. Now Grell…" His voice trailed off as he looked over to the coffin where the small, red reaper had been sitting the last time he had looked. Undertaker also turned and they both saw that Grell was no longer in sight. A brief flash of panic ripped through Undertaker's heart as they looked around for the missing child. Thankfully, Grell was quickly found as he had only wondered over to examine the jars containing long removed organs that Undertaker kept setting on his shelves. His youthful face held no disgust or fear as his small fingers ghosted over the outside of the jars.

William coughed loudly and his tiny subordinate looked up at him. "Now, Grell," he repeated, extended his hand, "We should be going."

"Going?" Undertaker asked.

"He'll be safer in the reaper realm," William answered, glancing towards him, "And we can get him fitted with new glasses in the meantime. We're looking into the matter of why he's suddenly become a child and will do our best to reverse whatever was done to him. If we cannot do so, he will simply have to grow up naturally."

As usual, William's reasoning was completely logical and Undertaker could find no fault with it. Grell did belong in the reaper realm, especially in his current state where he was less able to defend himself than usual, and it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to prepare for the possibility that the redhead would have to simply grow up as if he had been a born reaper. It wasn't the greatest life, but there was a chance that what had been done to him had been permanent, so there might not be an alternative. Yet, despite recognizing that it was all logical, Undertaker couldn't help but feel that Grell should stay with him and opened his mouth to protest, but the argument didn't come from him.

"I want to stay with Uncle Undie," Grell announced, moving away from the jars and leaning against the Undertaker's leg. Instinctively, the older reaper laid his hand on top of the mess of red hair adorning the tiny head laying against his leg.

"Uncle Undie?" William repeated in a less than amused tone.

"I told him to call me that," Undertaker explained quickly.

"Oh," William replied as if unsure of what else to say, "Even so, it would still be best if he came with me." He took offered his hand again. "Come on, Grell." The underage reaper's only response to the repeated command was to lean closer to the Undertaker.

"You can at least let him spend one night here," Undertaker said, "A lot's happened today after all. It's been a bit traumatic."

"I don't see why it's be any less traumatic for him in the reaper realm," William countered, but Undertaker could see he was softening slightly.

"Well, he says he like to stay here for now," Undertaker stated, "Besides, you know I can protect the lad."

"One more night shouldn't hurt, I suppose," William relented, "but he must return tomorrow. As you know, there certain creatures that would love to get their hands on a juvenile reaper. I don't doubt that you can provide a good deal of protection, but I still think he'd be safer out of reach of anyone who would want to do him harm." He sighed softly.

"Thank you, Willy," Undertaker said, "but I can assure you that he'll be safe here." He leaned forward to drape his arms loosely over Grell's shoulders as if trying to create a physical representation of the security he was going to provide. "Plus, we need to do all we can to fix this mess."

William nodded, his gaze drifting down towards Grell one last time. His expression was hard to decipher, but then he turned, created a portal, and left the two alone.

"Now then," Undertaker said, "Let's see to getting us a bite to eat." Taking Grell's hand he led him through the back to a small kitchen. Unlike the rest of the visible shop, this room was obviously scrubbed often. Sitting Grell up on a chair, the retired reaper started to turn away but then he looked back and the young redhead. "Grell," he began, "Why didn't you want to go with William?" While it made perfect sense for Grell to have been afraid of Sebastian because of his demonic scent, there was no reason for him to have any negative feelings toward William.

Grell shrugged. "He seemed…" His voice trailed off as he scrunched his face in an adorable manner in deep thought. "...like he wasn't much fun. I don't think he liked me either."

"Why made you think he didn't like you? He wanted you to go with him."

Again Grell shrugged as he fiddled with a button on his shirt. "I don't know," he answered, "but he didn't seem happy to see me." He looked up and his brilliant eyes regarded Undertaker directly. "Uncle Undie, is there something wrong with me?"

"Wrong?" Undertaker returned, "Why do you ask that?"

"Well both that man and the other one with the funny smell acted like they knew me, and they said odd things to you. It's like I'm 'posed to be someone else. Am I?"

Undertaker smiled softly. Those who thought he was simply a crazy, old man would have had trouble comprehending this warm, fatherly side that he now display, and truthfully it surprised Undertake a little as well. He had always liked children, but had never dreamed that he would have ever made much of a father. His time with this pint-sized version of Grell, however, was making him question these thoughts. "You are exactly who you are supposed to be," he answered, "Something did happen to you recently, and that's what those men were talking about, but don't worry. You're Grell and that's all that matters."

He patted him gently on the head before turning around. "Now, I have some beef and vegetables. Why do I make us a nice stew? Does that sound good?" Grell nodded, and Undertaker was relieved to see a small but genuine smile on the childish face. The older reaper retrieved a pot and other supplies as he launched into another story.

"There was once a woman who had nine sons," he began, "They were all good children, but they wanted a little sister to love. Before the next child was born, the sons told their mother if the next child was another boy, they would leave and never come back."

Grell listened intently as Undertaker told the story, occasionally asking a question or making an observation. For the first time since he could remember, Undertaker's small kitchen was filled with conversation and warmth. He never knew how much he had longed for it before.

((X))

William walked quietly down the hall with his eyes straight ahead. To the untrained eye, he looked fairly the same as he always had, but there was a weight deep inside his chest where his heart was usually located. His legs felt heavy and his feet seemed to be dragging along the floor. He knew he hadn't done what was expected of him, but he really had no idea what he should have done. Things were spiraling out of control, and there was little he cared less for than the loss of control. He liked to know what was going to happen next, and maneuvering blindly like this caused his insides to twist and knot. This was a mess.

He had been more than a little surprised when Undertaker had simply appeared one day after that unfortunate incident on the ship. He had said that he had no desire to hide and was willing to face consequences, but he had said so with a lunatic grin curled about his face. He knew the council was outraged for his behavior, even more than they had been with Grell for his involvement in the Jack the Ripper affair, and there were whispers that they wanted to make an example out of the legend.

William went as far as he could to protect Undertaker. As a young reaper, he had read all the stories concerning the ancient and had rather idolized him. In fact, it was sometimes hard for William to remain professional and detached in his presence, but so far he felt he had been able to maintain his demeanor for the most part. He did suspect, however, that the council could see that he was desperate to do all he could for the legendary reaper since had had appeared before them so many times, but there was still angry ripples and murmurs coming from the crowd of high level reapers.

They wanted blood.

William was afraid that soon they would call for Undertaker's life, and he hated to have to carry the news of that sentence, but soon all the anger just seemed to melt away as if it had been nothing more than an illusion. What had initially appeared to be a strict sentence turned into a simple agreement with only minor stipulations. The council had even seemingly swallowed the lie about Undertaker losing his scythe.

Now, there was this whole affair about Grell being transformed into a child and not wanting to leave the Undertaker's side. He had been told to go and retrieve Grell, but he had instead decided to leave him. No doubt, the council nor his direct supervisor would approve of his decision, but there was just something about the way Grell had looked up at him with those oddly innocent eyes as he clung to Undertaker. Even the way the ancient had looked down at Grell had been odd – as if they had formed some sort of bond in the short time they had been together. To the best of his knowledge, Grell thought Undertaker was handsome but was angrier at him for the injuries dealt on the sinking ship than he had been attracted to the rogue reaper. So why was he worrying so much about why Grell had wanted to stay? It was almost as if he was jealous, which was ludicrous. What was even more ludicrous then being jealous over whom Grell was chosen, was that the red reaper was currently a mere child. William shook his head at the thoughts. He should just grabbed Grell despite what was being said and been done with it all. Rubbing his temples, he felt a headache slowly creeping in like a threatening storm as he walked into his office.

"So, you've returned Spears. Where is the child version of that red abomination you call a field agent?"

William looked up at the solid, square figure of his supervisor, Fredrick Hargreaves, who was now seated comfortably in his chair. He was a short man, not quite as tall as Ronald, but he was at least twice as broad across the shoulders. His body was blocky and rather square in shape, so that his head appeared to be almost too small and round to have been a part of the same man. His thin, blonde hair didn't quite cover the pale, pink dome of his head, but he still combed and style those sparse strands with precision. Leaning back in the chair, his two-toned eyes regarded William from behind his rather thick rimmed glasses as he waited for an answer.

"Sutcliff was in Undertaker's care, as was reported," William stated, "And other than the fact he looks like a very small child, he seemed to be fine. He asked to be left in Undertaker's care for the night as he appears to think of him as a pseudo father figure, and I agreed with the understanding that Sutcliff must return to the reaper realm in the morning. It seemed to be in his best interest for his emotional stability during this rather traumatic time."

Frederick jumped to his feet and crossed the room with a speed that barely seemed possible for such a stocky man. Although quite a bit shorter, William couldn't shake the feeling that his supervisor was towering over him. "In his best interest," Frederick spat, "How is it anyone's best interest, much less someone with the capacity of a child, to be left in the care of someone who has proven themselves to be unstable? You do know that Sutcliff's condition is related to cult activity, right? Did you at least ask this barely reformed criminal if he had anything to do with the cult?"

William's face fell slightly. "No sir," he replied meekly, "I did not."

His supervisor made a disgusted noise. "I didn't think so," he snorted, "I was under the impression that were the ambitious sort, Spears. I thought you wanted to be promoted one day, but obviously you have no concern over your career. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if you haven't advanced a bit too much already."

Frederick started to stomp from the room, but he paused in the open doorway and glanced back over his shoulder. "If we lose a reaper, even one as troublesome as Sutcliff, because you were too busy with your hero worship to make a rational decision, then I'll make sure you'll be spending the rest of your days cleaning the loos at the academy. Do I make myself clear?" Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared out the door and down the hallway.

"Yes sir," William said aloud to the empty room.

((X))

"Where are you, you little scamp?" Undertaker called with poorly feigned anger. He knew exactly where Grell was hiding, but he made an exaggerated game of looking in all the little jars and bottles as if he managed to cram himself into the tiniest of spaces. Still pretending to look, he walked past the coffin Grell was actually hiding behind.

"Rawr!" Grell leaped up, doing his best impression of growl.

Undertaker let out a fake squeak of shock and jumped backwards as he clutched at his chest. "My goodness!" he exclaimed, "You scared me! Oh, you're too good at this game."

Grell giggled and ran forward to wrap his arms around Undertaker's legs. "Let's play some more," he requested.

"As much as I love to, little one," Undertaker said, "It's time for you to get to bed." Grell pushed out his bottom lip to pout as his large eyes filled with tears. "No pouting," instructed Undertaker, shaking a finger towards the face, "You get some sleep, and we can play some more in the morning."

"Are you going to go to bed now too?" Grell asked, still slightly pouty.

"Not now," Undertaker said, "I want to wash the clothes that dear girl Amelia gave us. Tomorrow we can get you dressed up in another outfit." He picked up Grell and started for the stairs that led to his small bedroom.

Suddenly, Undertaker became aware that there was an unwelcomed presence nearby but, before he could react, he heard the sound something slicing through the air followed the piercing scream of a child. Looking down, he saw that Grell's arm had been cut and was bleeding profusely. It was the kind of injury that Grell would have normally shrugged off, but he didn't seem to be healing. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Undertaker remembered hearing that younger reapers sometimes took longer to develop their healing abilities.

This wasn't the time to think about some trivial matters for it appeared that someone was after Grell, but Undertaker doubted that they were prepared to face the consequences. He sat the boy briefly down on top of a nearby coffin as he threw his outer robe and hat aside. Extending his hand, his scythe appeared and in that moment he was ever inch the legend that William idolized.

He stood as still as a statue as he waited and listened. The mysterious attackers had made the first move, but the next attack would be his – and he only needed one to end the game.


	4. Chapter 4: Fighting and Returning

**A/N: This is my longest chapter so far, and it was actually difficult to write. I hope that everyone enjoys it.**

**Chapter 4: Fighting and Returning**

Undertaker had never regretted taking on the guise of a slightly eccentric, old bounder. It gave him the chance to observe people in a way he had never been able to as a reaper all while silently laughing at the great punchline that was his true identity. In fact, it was one of the reasons he had returned despite knowing that he might face consequences. It would have been easy for him to go to some far off place and construct some new identity, but he had gotten used to his life here. Still, he could never deny how exhilarating it felt to cast aside the disguise to reveal his true self. He was confident enough in his own power and abilities that he didn't have to flaunt, but it was simultaneously very fulfilling when a moment arrived he could demonstrate what he could really do.

All of his senses were alive as he waited in the dim light; exhilarated by the thrill of the upcoming scuffle. There were five of them, all human, and he couldn't help but smile since it was doubtful they had any idea of the situation they were now entangled. Four were upstairs in the bedroom, and he strongly suspected that they had slipped inside through the tiny window of that room. They probably thought they were being quiet as they crept about, but they might as well have been playing trumpets to announce their presence. There was another crouched beneath the stairs and he was the one who had thrown the weapon had injured Grell. Undertaker had no idea how that man had managed to sneak down the stairs unnoticed, but he wasn't going to get any closer.

The one hiding behind the stairs was the first one to make a move. He leapt out with a yell as he swung what appeared to be a makeshift blade without a hilt. Blood was pouring from his palms, but his face didn't even seem to register the pain as he screamed. Something deep inside of Undertaker, something very raw and primal, wanted to cut this man into a thousand pieces for threatening the safety of Grell, but he knew better than to act on the urge. If he openly revealed that he still had his scythe not only would the council attempt to take it away from him, but what was more troubling was they would also take away Grell. The redhead's best chance at being able to return to normal was here where the council had direct access, so even though Undertaker could undoubtedly take him away and start over somewhere else, it wouldn't be fair to Grell. Right now his best course of action was to do his best to defend Grell while simultaneously doing his best to neither kill the men (that would draw the attention of the council) or to cut any with his scythe. As Undertaker calculated the man's movements, he realized he didn't need to even use a fraction of his strength and abilities in order to make this a brief scuffle.

The man lunged forward, swinging the blade as if trying to take off Undertaker's head, but the ancient swiftly stepped to the side and slammed the blunt end of his scythe into the man's chest. He knew how hard he could hit without causing serious injury and calmly watched at the man fell to floor unconscious from the blow. Upstairs there was a flurry of activity, and he rushed up the steps only to see two disappear out the window while the others shakily faced him with more cobbled weapons. Using only the handle of his scythe he quickly dispatched one of the two men, leaving him lying in a crumbled mess on the floor. The second one took a wild swing and he actually felt the sting as the tip of the blade managed to cut his face. Undertaker took no time to worry about an injury that no doubt would be non-existent in a few minutes as kicked the man with his booted foot and watched his unconscious form join his buddy's on the floor. Now, there was just the matter of the two that had fled out the window.

Both of them had jumped, and it appeared one of him had already done himself in. He had hit his head on the cobblestones and now was lying in a growing pool of his own blood. There was a good chance an active reaper would be after the man soon, but at least it hadn't happened inside of his shop nor was it at his hand. The other was trying to limp slowly away on what looked like a broken, or at least badly dislocated, ankle. Undertaker caught up to him quickly and grabbed the man by his soiled shirt. "Why are you here?" he growled without any trace of his usual humor.

The man's smiled revealed that he was missing more than a few teeth. He wasn't an old man, but hard times had aged him greatly so that what was left of his dark hair was graying and stood up in fluffy tufts on the back of his head. He was far too thin to be healthy and the sores that tattooed his hide were angry and inflamed. "Asclepius told us of the traitor who stole the child we have been seeking," he slurred, "but now he has retrieved him. Drink of the Ambrosia!" Undertaker did him a favor by knocking him out quickly so that he never had a moment of consciousness to feel the pain of the blow.

A high pitched cry reached Undertaker's ears and he suddenly realized that he had left Grell alone without any protection. Cursing his own foolishness, he leapt nimbly through the upstairs window and rushed downstairs just in time to hear a deeper cry of what sounded like a man in pain. He couldn't sense anybody, but even with his poor eyesight he could see a figure draped in a black cloak trying to take Grell. The young reaper had done the only thing he could do to defend himself in this situation and sunk his razor sharp teeth deep into the offender's hand.

Undertaker was no longer concerned concealing his continued possession of his scythe as he rushed forward with every intention of slicing off the arm that dared to touch Grell, but the potential kidnapper moved aside swiftly to miss the main arc of the ancient tool. He couldn't move completely out of the way as the curved blade did manage to slice through the robe and made a thin cut along the skin. The strange yelped in surprised pain and quickly released his hold on Grell, who fell solidly onto the floor. Undertaker barely had time to register that Grell had begun to cry softly as he saw the stranger move with unbelievable speed into the small kitchen. The retired reaper dashed to the doorway, but the stranger had already disappeared. He could have perhaps pursued the robed figure, but he wasn't going to leave Grell alone again.

With the danger passed, Undertaker returned to the rather pale looking, tiny redhead still sitting on the floor. The sleeve of his shirt was torn, and the white fabric was stained red from where he had bled. Although were still tears in his eyes and clinging to his lashes, he was no longer actively crying. "Grell, are you okay?"

Grell nodded slowly. Just as he always did when he was tired or uncertain, he started to bring his thumb up to his mouth, but this time Undertaker took his hand and stopped him. "Did you see the man that grabbed you?" he asked, "Did you see his face?"

The young reaper shook his head and he slowly spoke, although his voice was rather shaky. "I couldn't see his face," he answered, "Only his hands – and they were hairy!"

Despite everything, Undertaker couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the sound of disgust lacing Grell's voice – relieved that he seemed to be okay. Looking out at the unconscious body lying on the floor, however, was sadly proof that Grell wasn't as safe as he had assumed. Whoever was behind this cult was more dangerous than Undertaker had originally thought. He didn't worry about his own well-being, but he was responsible for Grell and he had to think of the red reaper's safety. Sadly, it appeared that William may have been right after all. Grell was probably safer in the reaper realm.

Keeping Grell close to his side, he carried the unconscious men outside and dumped their bodies where they would be quickly found the next morning. He then quickly cleaned and bandaged Grell's arm before creating a portal. Closing his eyes, he held tightly to redhead's hand as they stepped through – not opening his eyes until his feet was firmly on the realm he had long since abandoned.

In one sense, this was his home and every fiber of his being both knew this and ached to be here despite his heart's cries to the contrary. Even though things had changed radically since he had last seen this place, his feet knew which path to take to get to the dispatch office as he walked silently – taking all the twists and turns without hesitation. It was late, but he knew William had a tendency to stay after hours at the office, and he only hoped that he would still be there. He found the building easily enough, but it was locked tight as everyone had already left. For a few minutes, he simply stood there as he tried to figure out his next move when a familiar face happened to walk around the corner. He recognized the young reaper with the two-toned hair as the one he had seen with Grell in the past, but Ronald hadn't noticed him just yet. He was smiling and flirting with an attractive woman who was soaking up all the attention like a sponge. As they stepped closer, Ronald turned his head and his gaze happened upon them and he stopped, almost comically, in his tracks.

"It's you!" he gasped, looking at Undertaker. Then his eyes drifted downward to the rather small redhead holding the Undertaker's hand. "And…Senior Sutcliff?"

"Right now, I think that you're his senior," Undertaker corrected, "We were looking for Willy, but it looks like he's already left the office. Do you know where he lives?"

"Uh, yeah," answered Ronald, "I can show you his apartment." He turned briefly to the girl on his arm. "Why don't you go on, Lucille? I'll meet you at your place later."

"Okay," she said, leaning close to Ronald, her ebony ringlets no doubt tickling his ear, "But don't keep me waiting too long."

Lucille walked away, making sure to add just a little extra wiggle to her walk as she did. Despite Ronald's obvious surprise at seeing Undertaker and a child version of his mentor, he took the time to watch her as she walked away.

"Sorry to take you away from your date," apologized Undertaker.

"That's okay," Ronald said, but he still seemed distracted, "I'll meet up with her later, and later is always the part I'm eagerly waiting on anyway."

Undertaker laughed at younger reaper's candor. "Now, lead the way to Willy's house, if you don't mind."

"It's this way," instructed the blonde, leading them down a nearby street. The first apartments were tiny as they were no doubt intended for the rookies, but the buildings gradually got larger as they moved down the street. About halfway down, Ronald stopped and pointed to an apartment, which Undertaker noted it wasn't particularly large and it had nothing on the exterior to give a passerby any clue as to the identity of the occupant. "This is it," he announced.

"Thank you," Undertaker said, "Now, hurry on back to your date, and have fun."

"Trust me," Ronald replied, a huge smile plastered on his face, "That's exactly what I intend to do." He started to walk away, but paused and looked back at the ancient. "Do you think we'll be able to help him?" he motioned towards Grell, "I had heard the rumors this morning, but I just couldn't really believe it until now."

Undertaker looked down only to see that Grell was almost asleep on his feet. Effortlessly, he picked him up and allowed the exhausted child to lay his tired head on his shoulder. "I don't know, but I certainly plan to do everything I can to help the dear lad."

Ronald looked partially relieved as he turned away and hurried back down the street. Undertaker watched him as he disappeared into the distance before turning and knocking on the plain wooden door to William's apartment. A few minutes went by and he could hear shuffling inside before William finally opened the door.

Although he had been apparently relaxing at home, William didn't look much differently than usual. His jacket and tie were gone, no doubt hung up neatly, but he was still dressed in his dress shirt and slacks. Instinctively, he ran a hand through his already immaculate dark hair and adjusted his glasses. Undertaker had recently noticed just how often he adjusted his glasses and found himself wondering if it was a nervous habit.

"Sir," William gasped, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I didn't plan to pop over for an unexpected visit either, Willy, but there's been an unfortunate turn of events. May we come in?"

"Yes, of course," William said, stepping to the side to allow them to enter.

The house was immaculate as the man. The color scheme was muted earth tones that blended and complimented one another without any one color standing out more than another. Everything was perfectly arranged and setting in their appointed places. In a way, it looked almost more like a set for a theatre production than an actual home. It appeared neat and even professionally put together, but there was so little that had any actual personality. Without commenting on this, Undertaker made his way inside and took a seat on a beige sofa in the living room. He set Grell down by his side, but the tiny reaper seemed more interested in a fire that was roaring in the fireplace. It added the only splash of color to the room, and Grell moved off the sofa to sit in front of the fire. The orange light danced on his face and in his two-toned eyes and seemed almost hypnotized by the dancing flames punctuating by sharp pops and cracks.

"Did something happen?" William asked as he stepped into the room. He didn't sit down, but hovered over the pair on the couch.

Undertaker nodded. "Some leftovers from the cult decided to pay me a little visit tonight, he said, "At first there was only five, although I had no idea how they managed to sneak in before I knew they were there. Those five were no real problem, but there was a man in a dark robe who actually managed to get his hands on Grell. Luckily, Lil' Red here sunk his teeth into his hand and I got a little slice in myself. The man ran away, and that's when I decided to come here." He sighed deeply and looked up towards William. He could hear the exhaustion and disappointment in his own voice, and he winced inwardly. "I can't protect him, Will," he admitted, "This cult shouldn't be a problem, but they got way too close tonight. Grell was cut, and that man actually touched him. I was able to drive them away, but they should have never have gotten their hands on Grell." He stopped talking because he was afraid his voice might betray him. For the first time ever he had found himself doubting his own capabilities. Maybe he was slipping.

"I can see you were both wounded," William said, his eyes moving from Grell's arm and Undertaker's face, "But I'm as surprised as you are about this cult. They shouldn't have been able to cause any difficulties. For now, I suppose it would be safer for Sutcliff not to be in the mortal realm." He sighed softly, and it was clear that he was uncomfortable about something. "I was getting ready to go to sleep, so my bed's already prepared. You two can sleep in there and I'll take the couch."

"We can't take your bed, Will," retorted Undertaker, "I wouldn't allow you to give it up. Grell's fine out here. He's small, and he'll have no problem sleeping on the couch."

"What about you?" William asked.

"I don't plan on sleeping," the ancient replied sternly, "Not now. Someone needs to watch over Grell."

William stood for a few more minutes and it appeared that he might argue with Undertaker, but then he simply turned and left the room. It was probably just as well since he wasn't going to change his mind. William reappeared shortly with some blankets and a pillow, and Undertaker softly thanked him. Soon they arranged a rather comfortable bed for Grell, who had all but fallen asleep in front of the fire. Undertaker placed the tiny reaper under the cover and sat down in the floor in front of the couch so that he could watch over him.

"Nuku, nuku, nurmilintu," he sang softly as he stroked the sleeping child's reaping hair. He had heard the lullaby before, but this was the first time he had ever sang it himself. Somehow the sound of it slipping past his pale lips seemed natural.

"Do you need anything?" William asked from the doorway.

Undertaker looked up and immediately realized how long he had been sitting on the floor when he saw that the typically stoic supervisor had changed into a pair of light green pajamas. He had never seen him in anything other than professional attire, and he had to admit that the pajamas actually suited him. "We're fine," he replied.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," William hesitated. He obviously wasn't used to playing host, but he was giving it his best attempt.

"Thank you," Undertaker said, sincerely, "Go on to bed. We'll be fine."

"Okay. Goodnight then, sir."

"Goodnight Will."

Will adjusted his glasses one final time before finally disappearing down the darkened hallway, and Undertaker turned his attention back to Grell. The tiny reaper looked so peaceful and his face so full of life.

"I'm going to keep you safe, no matter what," Undertaker whispered. The only answer he received was the crackling of the slowly dying embers.

((X))

Although William valued routine and order, he could handles changes and surprises. This isn't to say that he liked change, because he didn't, but he felt confident there was very little that he couldn't handle. This view of himself was tested early that morning when he stepped into his kitchen only to be confronted with the image of Undertaker cheerfully making breakfast as a rather small version of his subordinate and most ardent admirer sat at the table cheerfully kicking his short legs back and forth. For a moment he could only stop and stare as his mind desperately tried to comprehend the scene.

"Good morning, Willy," Undertaker greeted as he turned to greet him slightly. Somehow the ancient had found the rather frilly apron someone had once given him as a gag gift and was wearing it as he cooked. "How do you like your eggs?"

"I usually don't have any," William managed as he retrieved his favorite mug from the cabinet and poured him a cup of coffee that he was thankful Undertaker had prepared. He winced a bit at the taste as it was stronger than he usually preferred, but it certainly had the ability to jolt a person awake. However, it wasn't as if William needed a jolt. The sight that had greeted him in his very own kitchen had been more than enough of a shock.

"Nonsense," Undertaker insisted, "Everyone should start the day with breakfast. Besides, you're already dressed and ready for another dull day at the office. At least take a minute for some nice, hot food." He put a hand on William's shoulder and guided the rather stunned reaper to a seat, and William sat down despite his intentions to argue. Grell, who looked particularly awake this morning, smiled at William as he played with a fork.

William didn't have a chance to say anything as Undertaker set steaming hot plates of food for him and Grell. He didn't think that he was hungry, but he found his mouth watering as the smell of the food wafted up to tease his nose. Grell didn't hesitate as he immediately began shoveling the food in the vicinity of his mouth, and Undertaker chuckled softly as he returned to the table with his own plate.

"Slow down," he admonished, "It's not going anyway." He took a napkin and wiped away some foot that dotted the younger reaper's cheeks.

"But it's good!" Grell exclaimed.

"And don't talk with your mouth full," Undertaker added, but he didn't look cross. Almost playfully, he tapped Grell's nose and the child giggled.

William took a minute to appreciate the interaction between the two as he attempted to hide a tiny smile behind his coffee cup. As odd as all of this was, if felt comfortable and relaxing and a part of him hating leaving his house today. Still, there was work to be done so he finished eating his food and stood up to leave.

"I'll be back later," he announced, "I'm not sure what time I'll be, but make yourselves at home."

"I was hoping you might be able to stop by on your lunch break," Undertaker said, "I can having something made for you to eat, but I need to pop back home for a minute. A dear girl gave Grell some clothes, but I left them behind when we left. I don't want to leave Grell alone, and I don't want to take him back to the mortal world right now."

William considered the matter for a moment, and more of the Undertaker's cooking made it a rather tempting offer. "I should be able to do that. I'll probably be back around noon, but I have to be back to the office on time," he stated.

"That should work out fine," Undertaker replied, "Thanks, Willy."

For some reason, William just couldn't get mad over Undertaker's continual use of nicknames. He simply shook his head as he headed out the door and made his way towards dispatch. Everything about this morning was so unusual, so wrong, yet William couldn't help but think that it was also right somehow at the same time. Still, mulling this over in his head, he walked into dispatch and headed down the hall to his office.

"I don't want to be disturbed, Miss Fletcher," he stated to his secretary, "Unless it is an emergency, no one is to knock on my office door. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Spears," the young woman answered immediately as she continued with her work.

William appreciated her efficiency as he walked into his office and firmly shut his door. As usual, there were folders and paperwork were in neat stacks on his desk, most waiting for his signature or review, but the first thing he needed to do was to reassign the workload now that Grell was not going to be able to take on any fieldwork in the immediate future. He truly hoped there was some way that Grell could be returned to his rightful age. Not only were they already shorthanded, but a part of him actually found himself missing the flamboyant reaper's typical antics. If Grell was here at this moment he'd no doubt be bemoaning paperwork while simultaneously trying to flirt with him, and maybe just a tiny part of him missed the redhead's presence. Besides, when Grell put his mind to it, he was actually a rather talented reaper. At least, that's all he'd let his mind consider at the moment as he ignored that minute voice in the back of his head that insisted it more than just that.

Just as he was finishing dividing up the new workload, his door floor open with a bang and he looked up to see Frederick standing there. Miss Fletcher was behind his enraged supervisor, and it was obvious she had tried to stop him, but the stocky man had been apparently not in the mood to listen. His breath was ragged and his round face was as scarlet as a certain reaper's hair.

"Spears!" Frederick shouted without any sort of greeting, "Do you know where that accursed Undertaker is? He's left his shop with that sad excuse of a reaper!"

William blinked a few times in realization that Frederick was keeping a watch over Undertaker, but not a close enough of a one to know what had happened the night before. "He came to my house last night, Mr. Hargreaves," he answered calmly, "He had thought about we had said and decided it would be safer for Sutcliff in this realm."

Frederick rushed forward and slammed his palms down on the desk causing William's papers to scatter. His normally well combed, albeit sparse, blonde hair was falling down across his forehead and in front of his bulging eyes. He almost seemed unnaturally angry, and William couldn't help but wonder if his own job had been threatened as well. William had heard rumors at the higher council were reluctant to promote Frederick for some reason. "Did something happen last night that caused him to leave?" he demanded.

While he didn't want his supervisor to know all of the details, William wasn't going to lie to the man's face. "Some members of the cult attempted to kidnap Sutcliff, but Undertaker was able to stop them," he admitted.

Frederick made a noise that something between a roar and a scream. "I knew it!" he shouted, "I don't care what happens to Sutcliff. I wouldn't care if that cult sacrificed to whatever it is they worship. That'd just mean less paperwork with his name on it, but we have to stop this cult. Humans can never be allowed to obtain immortality, and this group is just a bit too close. Come on! You say that they're on your house? Well, we need to pay them a visit."

He turned and stormed from the room as William stood up and followed rather numbly. To hear how his supervisor felt about Grell had been a bit shocking. While it was true that Grell got into a fair amount of trouble, saying that he didn't care if he was sacrificed was a bit much. Without words, William followed his supervisor out of the building and down the street to his apartment. William hadn't realized that Frederick knew exactly where he lived, but he didn't have much time to think about it as enraged man pounded on his door.

Undertaker opened the door, a drop of flour on his cheek and a huge smile painted across his face, but the smile melted when he looked at Frederick. "Yes?" he said rather calmly.

"I told you," Frederick growled. He was actually shaking with apparent anger. "I told you that this child version of the most incompetent and pathetic reaper in all of recorded history needed to be here in our realm for his safety, but you wouldn't listen. Now that you know you can't protect him, you think you just come here like you belong or something. Well, you don't belong. You rejected this realm when you turned your back on your purpose. We don't want you here and you're not welcome here. Leave immediately!"

A darkness passed over Undertaker's face, and William was sure that if his eyes were visible they would be blazing with anger at this moment. "Come on, Grell," he called back as he held out his hand, "We're going." Grell walked hesitantly to the doorway. No doubt he had heard the shouting and it probably had scared him a little.

"No," Frederick growled, "The child stays here where he'll be safe. It's already been shown that you can't protect him. The council has already spoken on this matter. If you take Sutcliff, we will no longer try and help him. We will simply work to put an end to the cult. Do you understand what I'm saying? Leave now, immediately, or Sutcliff will suffer for your foolishness!"

Undertaker opened his mouth to respond, but then shut it quickly again with saying a word. He glanced back at Grell, and William could tell he wanted to take Grell along, but Frederick's words had frightened him. Lips trembling, he turned to William. "Watch over him for me, Willy," he said in a soft tone that was barely audible as he stepped out of the house to create a portal.

"Uncle Undie!" Grell cried, "You can't go!" He started to run out the door to follow his beloved caregiver, but Frederick crudely shoved him back into the house. Grell fell hard to the floor and he made a startled noise of pain. There were tears in his eyes when he looked up, but William saw the rage burning in his irises as he glared at Frederick. It was in that moment that William realized that despite the size and some of the more childlike behaviors, the fiery Grell he had known since the academy was still in there somewhere.

Undertaker didn't look back, but his shoulders were shaking as he created a portal and stepped through, disappearing from sight. "I'm glad he's gone," Frederick growled, "You can't trust him. I wouldn't doubt if he's really behind the whole mess and is just staged the kidnapping attempt to throw of suspicion. You see that cut on his face? I bet he did that to himself." He shook his head before looking down at Grell with a disgusted expression on his unpleasant face. "Find someone else to watch over the brat for a while. Maybe one of your workers can do it." Still grumbling to himself, he quickly turned and hurried away, leaving William alone with Grell who had begun to cry despite his best efforts to the contrary.

William looked down at him, something inside breaking at the sight and sound of his soft crying. He wanted to comfort him, but it wasn't in his nature to do so. It was one task for which he felt horribly inept and unprepared. "Come, Grell," he finally said, extending his hand as he had seen the Undertaker do.

Grell looked up at him and wiped his eyes. "I want to go to Uncle Undie," he whimpered.

"I know you do," William answered softly, "And we can figure out some way that you can later."

"Do you promise?" Grell asked, slowly standing to his feet and examining William's face carefully.

"I promise to try."

"Okay," Grell said, seemingly satisfied. He stepped forward and took William's hand before they turned and started slowly back to dispatch. In that moment, feeling those tiny fingers inside of his grasp, William understood Undertaker's desire to protect him, and he vowed to do all he could to not let either one of them down.


	5. Chapter 5: Depression and Babysitting

**Chapter 5: Depression and Babysitting**

Undertaker returned home, but it seemed so empty and vacant as if no one had lived inside these four walls for an eternity. He had resided here for so long, and he used to feel as if the many laughs he had enjoyed in this place were imprinted in the walls, ceiling, and even the tiny cracks on the floor, but now all the laughter was silent. The faintest echo of a child's voice whispered in his ear, but it only haunted him and reminded him of his failure. He had promised to protect Grell, but the end he had been unable to keep his word. He had been alive for far longer than even he could comprehend, but this was the first time he had ever actually felt old. Sighing he moved past the empty coffins, his legs feeling heavy and tired.

As he walked, something stuck deep into the side of one of the coffins glinted in the dim light and he walked over to examine the strange item. He found that it was some sort of crude blade, and the anger rose within him when he realized it was the weapon that had been used to injure Grell. It was a poorly made weapon, but it was incredibly sharp as he soon learned while he looked over it. He hissed when he felt the blade cut his skin and saw a thin line of his own blood rise up to the surface. The wound oddly burned, and some distant part of his mind send up an alarm, but he couldn't quite figure out what the cause of this unnamed concern.

He was exhausted and his thoughts were getting lost in the muck and mire of his own tiredness. He had only slept for a couple of hours sitting in a chair the night he had found Grell, and he had slept so much as a single minute since. All reapers, even the ancients like himself, had their physical limitations and he was quickly nearing that precipice. If he didn't get some rest soon, he wouldn't be of any use to anyone, especially Grell, and he knew that the young reaper was going to need him again. He couldn't explain how he knew that, but it was one of the few thoughts that was clear in his weary mind.

Stumbling upstairs, he fell down heavily on his own bed without bothering to take off any of his clothing or even his boots. Sleep quickly pulled and tugged at his mind, pulling it deep beneath the waves of consciousness, but a single thought rose to the surface.

No matter what anyone said or did, he was going to protect Grell.

((X))

William didn't like feeling uncomfortable. He hated feeling unsure and questioning every action, but that's exactly how he felt with this younger version of Grell. Was he walking too fast for him to keep up? Was he going to say something that young ears shouldn't hear? He swallowed hard as he was trying to keep the questions and nervous feelings relegated to the deepest pit of his stomach as he risked a quick glance down at Grell. The redhead wasn't looking up at him, but he could still see the tears gathered in the corner of his eyes. He had been upset to be separated from Undertaker, and William thought that Frederick had been far too mean. While William knew that he was typically rough on Grell himself, it was different now that the reaper was a mere child.

But was it really different? He had heard all the rumors tiptoeing through the halls of dispatch and gathering in the break room that he was a bit hard on Grell in comparison to the other agents. Oddly enough William had seen these same rumormongers turn this around as an excuse to treat Grell differently. This wasn't true of all the other agents, but too many giggled and gossiped behind his back, and he had seen Grell excluded from certain office functions. Grell often pretended that he didn't notice, or even occasionally played along, but William had seen the hurt in his eyes a few times when he thought that no one was looking. William always tried to tell himself that Grell brought all the gossip and ill-treatment upon himself, and that he was only hard on his subordinate because he knew of Grell's real potential, but he still felt a pang of guilt. Maybe he had been too rough on Grell, and it took being able to view it as an outsider by watching Frederick's actions to bring this to light. Yes, Grell made his fair share of mistakes and he often seemed to do better with reprimands in lieu of compliments. Even Ronald had commented how much more focused and on task the red reaper had been lately after his and Grell's last 'talk', but perhaps William had pushed it a bit far. Maybe, just maybe, he was colder and crueler to Grell for reasons other than just trying to push him to be a better agent. Pushing these thoughts down to rest with the anxiety twisted about his stomach like an angry snake, he silently walked back into dispatch and headed straight to his office despite the stares he could feel weighing heavily upon his frame.

He closed the door behind them and pointed to a couch that set near a bookshelf in the far corner. "Sit there," he instructed, pointing to the couch as he released the small hand.

Grell looked up briefly, and William noticed the pale freckles across the bridge of his nose. He hadn't seen those freckles since they were in the academy, and even then he had quickly learned that Grell despised them as being imperfections. He had never understood why since the tiny clusters of slighter darker pigmentation were barely noticeable and actually kind of cute – at least in this child state. With a slight nod, the tiny reaper walked across the room and took a seat. William couldn't help but note that this version of Grell was far more compliant, and much quieter, although he had the sense that the lack of talking was because Grell was upset at being separated from his 'Uncle Undie' as well as unsureness of the situation. Once Grell had situated himself, William walked over to his desk and quickly started on the paperwork that had begun to gather in an unruly pile. Paperwork was something he had confidence in, and he hoped to bury himself beneath these predictable and routine documents. Time passed and William finally began to feel like himself.

A loud crashing of class suddenly erupted and William felt his concentration broken entirely. He looked and saw that Grell had broken a glass pigeon figurine that had been situation on the bookshelf and was now looking at the pieces of glass with a rather confused expression. William felt the anger rise up within in at the sight of the broken figurine. He had bought it for himself when he had been first promoted to supervisor, and it was one of the few times he had ever acted spontaneously or splurged on something so frivolous, but now it lay in pieces. Without thinking, William jumped out of his seat and ran over to Grell and the shattered remains of his once prized glass pigeon.

"Sutcliff!" he roared, "How can be so careless? I told you to sit!"

A pale face turned up to look at his, and his anger melted when he saw the tears swimming in the large, innocent eyes. "Sutcliff…Grell, I'm…" He stumbled with his words as guilt constricted his throat.

Grell's face suddenly tightened as a look of childish anger washed over his features. "You're mean!" he cried, and he ran over to William's desk. With a sweep of a short arm, he managed to knock a few of the folders to the floor. "You hate me!" he screamed, as the papers flew about his small frame like colorless leaves, "Why didn't you let me stay with Uncle Undie? He wasn't mean like you! He didn't hate me!" His last few words were lost in an onslaught of tears as he buried his face in his hands.

William almost felt on the verge of tears himself as he watched the brief tantrum began to fade. He made his way over to Grell, who still had his face hidden in his hands, and knelt clumsily next to him. "I don't hate you, Grell," he began softly.

Vivid eyes peeked out from between fingers. "You don't?" A hiccup, brought on by his crying, laced his shaky voice.

"No," William answered, hesitantly placing his hand on Grell's shoulder, "I don't hate. I'm just not good at, well, this. I'm not good at acting…nice, but I'm sorry I yelled at you. And I'm sorry that you were taken away from your 'Uncle Undie.'"

"You said you'd let me go back to him," Grell said, sniffling as he slowly dropped his hands.

"I'd said I'd try," William corrected, but he tried to keep his voice gentle. Walking around behind his desk, he retrieved a box of tissues from his drawer. He didn't typically need them, but even he had his occasional issues with allergies. Gathering a few in his hands, he made his way back to Grell and attended to his nose before the slight sniffles he had heard got out of hand.

"I'm sorry for making a mess," Grell apologized.

"It's okay," William replied, throwing away the tissues before picking up the papers and folders, "I shouldn't have yelled."

There was a knock at the door, interrupting anything else William might have said. "Yes?" he inquired, as he stood up and returned the paperwork to his desk.

The door opened and Alan Humphries stepped inside with his own paperwork in his hands. "I have these ready for your signature, sir," he began. Initially, he was looking down at the papers when he had first opened the door, but he had looked up to address William directly as he finished his statement. As soon as his eyes happened upon Grell, his mouth fell open and his voice had apparently failed him.

"Very good, Humphries," William responded as he straightened his jacket and adjusted his glasses. "Hand those to me and I will sign them immediately."

Alan crossed the room in what appeared to be a bit of a daze, but he was smiling by the time he reached Grell, who was still sniffling slightly despite having some interest in someone new. Just as he always did, he sniffed the air slightly but William how no idea how the crying had affected his sense of smell. Alan handed the papers to his supervisor as he continued to smile at Grell.

"You don't get a chance to see too many children here," Alan offered, "I think the only other kid I've seen is Elijah's son." It was obvious he wanted to ask how Grell had been suddenly turned into a child, but he knew. Part of the rumors, which had no doubt been spread by Hargreaves himself, was that whatever had happened to Grell was completely confidential. William was thankful for that one deed of his overly aggressive supervisor because he had no idea how he would have even attempted to explain something about which he understood so very little.

William looked up sharply as his mind whirled. There was a man named Elijah that was married and had a child with his wife. Although William didn't know him personally, he was fairly certain that he worked in the eyeglasses department. It was rare for any of their kind to be married, and even rarer for there to be children, but William inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps there would be someone here that could help. "Is his son about the same size as Grell?" he asked. He personally had only seen the aforementioned child once some time earlier. "Perhaps he could be someone for Grell to interact with, and maybe Elijah and his wife could offer some assistance."

Alan looked more than a little surprised. "Eli and Marie transferred to the office in Paris a long time ago," he stated.

"I didn't know that," William replied. All of his attention was focused on the field agents directly beneath him, and the students in the academy to which he was assigned. He didn't really socialize with anyone, and he never really gave much thought as to what happened beyond those under his direct watch. "That is a shame. I don't suppose any of us here are precisely childcare experts. I must admit that even I'm a bit out of my area of expertise." He strove to keep his voice calm and professional but he felt like ripping his hair by the roots.

"It's not that hard," Alan returned, "I babysat for Eli a few times. Alvin could be a handful at times, but it wasn't a big deal."

"You babysat?" William asked as a new surge of hope blossomed in his chest. "Is there any chance that you'd be able to look after Grell?" Even without looking down, William felt Grell move closer to him at the sound of the suggestion. He probably didn't want to get handed off to another stranger, but Alan definitely seemed better prepared for the task. In truth, he thought that just about anyone would do better by Grell then he could.

Alan seemed more than a little surprised. "I guess," he managed.

"I would pick him up after I'm done here," William added, "I need to get caught up, and I'm afraid the office is no place for a small child." It wasn't that he particularly wanted to keep Grell overnight, but he had promised Undertaker that he would watch over him. "I'm afraid he's bit bored here. If you agree, then I'll permit you to leave work now without any docking of pay. After all, you will be completing an assignment that I've given you, so you deserved to be paid."

"The rest of the day off with pay?" Alan questioned, "Sure, I'll do it. Are you wanting me to take him now?"

"Yes," William replied, "And you're free to go. The only thing is that you can't go to the mortal realm with him. I'm not at liberty to discuss the issue, but this is for his safety. I would prefer you to stay at home."

"That's fine with me," Alan answered before looking down at Grell and holding out his hand. "Do you want to come with me, Grell?" he asked, "I think I even have a few toys that I used to keep when Alvin came by."

Grell looked at the offered hand and then up to Alan. "Do you tell stories?" he asked softly.

Alan's smile both grew and softened. "I can try," he answered, "You just tell me what kind of stories you like, and I'll do my best."

A smile began to light up Grell's face and he took Alan's hand. "I like the ones that Uncle Undie told me," he explained, "Like the one about a princess mouse and the girl who had to go off and find her nine brothers."

Thankfully, Alan didn't blink at the mention of 'Uncle Undie.' "Well, I don't know those stories," he admitted as he started to lead Grell from the room, "But have you heard the one about Dick Whittington and his cat?"

Grell shook his head and, just as the door shut, William heard the beginning of a story about a boy who was very poor and had lost both of his parents. With a sigh, William walked around and sat down at his own desk, but it found it very hard to concentrate on paperwork. He kept thinking about a very true story of a reaper who was forced to be a child again in a world inhabited by adults who had little to no understand of his needs and wants.

He only hoped that this story would have a happy ending.

((X))

The silence surrounded him so that the very sound of breath seemed to fill the space entirely. Candles were lit about an altar that tilted heavily to one side and the tiny flames danced as if rejoicing in some pagan ritual. Even though it was only the middle of the day, the inside of this abandoned church was dark and heavy with mystery. Once night truly began to fall, it would only add to the atmosphere. If he had been able, he would have waiting until midnight to perform his ceremony under the full moon, but sadly time was limited. He would have just stolen the child and gotten this all over with before now if he could have, but he had to stand on the ceremonies.

Besides, Asclepius was a patient man.

They thought they were moving the child to safety, but there was no place where he was out of reach. There had been a few detours, but in the end it had all worked out to his advantage. He was able to complete two tasks at once. Perhaps he wasn't the only one working towards balance.

Those first members of his flock had been such foolish sheep. They allowed themselves to be killed in order to provide the proper setting. Of course, they had thought they'd be awakened in immortal forms, but that had been more foolishness. Humans had been seeking immortality since they had first understand mortality, but they didn't understand the true curse of living without an end. Oh, he'd give them immortality, and they'd find out the truth eventually. He'd only wished that he'd be able to laugh from the grave.

Everything was in place so now he had to go and retrieve that last ingredient. Tonight he would be brewing up a stew of immortality, justice, and revenge.

((X))

"Uh, Alan?"

"Yes, Eric."

"Why is there a miniature Grell in our living room?"

Eric stood there, staring at the tiny version of the obnoxious redhead, but he just couldn't make sense of it all. Of course, he had heard all the rumors that somehow Grell had been turned into a child, everyone had, but that still didn't explain what he was doing in his house playing what looked to be a kaleidoscope. At the sound of his questions, Grell had paused in looking at the colorful designs through the tube and was looking at the rather confused Eric with a shy smile.

Alan walked out of the nearby kitchen as he dried his hands on a towel. From the look of flour dusting his cheeks and his shirt, it was obvious he had been cooking something. While he was quite talented in the kitchen, Alan seemed to get into cooking a bit too much and usually wore quite a few of the ingredients. Eric found it adorable that someone that usually such a neat man could be such a slob in the kitchen and often joked that he could tell what was for dinner by simply looking at Alan's shirt, but right now his mind was too busy trying to figure out the conundrum of a very young Grell playing happily by the coffee table.

Alan glanced over at Grell quickly as he walked over before turning his full attention onto his partner. "William asked me to babysit for a few hours," he explained, "so I pulled out some of those toys I had for Alvin back when I used to watch him."

"You agreed to babysit, Grell?" Eric asked.

"It's just until William gets done at the office," Alan offered. He looked over at Grell with a rather somber expression. "I don't think he's all that good with kids."

Eric snorted. "I'd be more surprised if he was." Grell had gone to playing with the kaleidoscope, and Eric noticed that there was an unused spinning top next to his leg. Apparently Alan had wanted to make sure that their young guest was occupied. "Did William say what happened to turn him into a kid?"

"No," Alan answered, "And I didn't ask. If William had wanted us to know, he had said something." He put his hands on Eric's chest and leaned close. "Can you entertain Grell for a little while? I need some time to finish cooking."

"I don't know anything about kids!" Eric cried, "What am I supposed to do with him?"

"Tell him a story," Alan suggested, "He likes that."

Eric opened his mouth to protest, but then a mischievous smile took possession of his features. "I could tell him about this dashing, handsome reaper that I happened to know who found the most amazing lover, even if his love did happen to be a sloppy cook."

Alan acted like he was going to swat him on the arm, but Eric easily grabbed his hand and pulled him close. They leaned forward, moving so in sync it was as if they were truly one being in that moment, and started to share a gentle kiss when the sound of crashing glass interrupted them.

((X))

William leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples with his fingers. He had actually managed to get caught up on most of his work, but this had to be one of the most mentally exhausting days in memory. Stifling a rare yawn, he stood up and stretched, but then his eyes happen to slip over to the bookcase.

The two pieces of his prized glass pigeon were setting on the shelf, and he couldn't help but frown deeply. He had been deeply upset when it had gotten broken, he was still upset in fact, but that still didn't excuse his behavior towards Grell. No matter who Grell typically was, he was currently a child and William had to consider that when talking to him. It wasn't in William's typical personality to be kind and considerate, but perhaps he had to try in this case.

There was a soft knock upon his door, which surprised him as he thought everyone had already left. "Come in," he instructed.

The door opened partway, and his secretary peeked in shyly. Nervously, she pushed a few strands of her ebony hair aside as she seemed to struggle to find the right words. "Mr. Spears, sir," she began.

"Yes, Miss Fletcher?" William asked. He was confused by her behavior as she was typically such a professional acting employee, but now she acted both a little frightened and unsure.

She toyed with her hair again, tucking it behind her ear where it would immediately spill out again to cover the sides of her fair face. "I have a message, sir," she said, "from Mr. Hargreaves." She held up a small sheet of paper.

William felt his anger rise, but he struggled to keep his outward composure. Judging from Miss Fletcher's behavior, the message was not a positive one, but it wasn't the secretary's fault. "Thank you," he said, motioning for her to hand him the note.

She stepped lightly into the room, handed him the note, and almost ran back outside. "It's past time to go home," she said she hurried, "So, I'm going to be leaving. Goodbye Mr. Spears."

"Good night, Miss Fletcher," William said as he stared at the folded note in his grasp. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the paper to read the contents.

_Spears,_

_Your behavior concerning this recent incident is most troubling. It is clear you are too blinded by your admiration by the dangerous rogue, now commonly referred to as Undertaker to handle this matter in the professional manner expected by someone in your position. A full report detailing my concern as well as my recommendation that you be immediately removed from current position has been drawn and is ready to be handed the council. If you wish for this report not to be delivered tomorrow, you must prove your loyalty and retrieve the Undertaker's scythe. You know as well as I it was never lost. If you take his scythe, I will discard the aforementioned report. I recommend you act without delay._

_Frederick D. Hargreaves._

William felt himself shake with anger. He knew how much Hargreaves hated Undertaker. He had been very vocal when calling for the ancient's very life, but he had never imagined that he would stoop so low as blackmail. Hargreaves knew fully that Undertaker would never hand over his scythe willingly, and William truly didn't think he could take it by force. He was trapped in a no-win situation and he didn't like it in the least.

Sighing loudly, he glanced over at the clock and saw that he hadn't worked as late as usual. He wanted to go to Humphries' place to pick up Grell, but he didn't have to leave right away. As he considered the matter, he decided that he should pay a quick visit to Undertaker. It wasn't that he was going to try and take his scythe. He preferred to have his head still firmly attached to his neck after all. However, he did promise to try and return Grell to him eventually, so it would be best to talk to him about all that had happened. Steeling his nerves, he created a portal and stepped from his well-lit office to the gloom of the Undertaker's shop.

At first, he saw nothing, and he was just about to call out for the Undertaker when he heard a strange cry from upstairs. He took the steps two at a time only to see the legendary reaper standing in middle of his bedroom, his silver hair swirling about him as if he had just jumped to his feet.

His scythe, the supposedly lost scythe, was firmly in his grasp.

William allowed his eyes to dance off the blade for only a second before turning his attention back to the ancient. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Undertaker turned to face him. His hat was gone and the incredible power and intensity of one of his eyes was now visible. "Grell," he gasped, "He's in trouble."


	6. Chapter 6: A Missing Child and Revelatio

**Chapter 6: A Missing Child and Revelations**

Undertaker walked slowly down what seemed to be a never ending hallway. Large, wooden doors lined the hall, but he knew that without even trying to open one that all of these doors were locked and led to nowhere. He moved without any sense of his body, and he seemed to have no option other than to move forward, as if someone else was in control of his actions. His footsteps were silent, and he had the feeling that if was to risk a downward glance he would see that his feet were being suspended by a fog and never actually touching the floor. In eerie silence he walked as he wondered if he would ever reach the end of this hall.

"It seems that even Death can be afraid," a voice that was simultaneously foreign and familiar whispered close to his ear.

He stopped walking as he whirled about to face the speaker but he found that he was alone. The corridor seemed to stretch forever in that direction as well. Frowning slightly, he turned around once again to continue making his way down the hall, but he found there was now a plain, brown wall directly in front of him. Raising his hands, he touched the wall and found it to be very solid. "A dead end?" he asked aloud.

"It might be a dead end for him," answered the sound voice as before. It was so close, that the warmth breath of voice's owner caused a few strands of his silver hair to shift and tickle his ear. "You must realize what you failed to notice."

"Who are you?" he demanded. He turned once again but only found himself facing another wall, but this wall wasn't as featureless as the other one. Embedded deep within the wood was the crude weapon that had injured Grell, but it looked different to him now for some reason. Carefully, he pulled it from the wood to examine it, but it began to change in his grasp. As he looked the blade morphed until it took the shape of a tiny scythe, and the realization suddenly hit him without almost a physical force.

The weapons those cult members had been using were fashioned from pieces of scythes, and the only ones who had access to the raw, divine materials used to create scythes were high ranking reapers. When Grell had been cut, he bled for some time not because his healing abilities hadn't fully developed but because he had been cut with part of a death scythe. Even after they had made it to William's house, William had commented on Grell's injury – as well as the cut on Undertaker's own face. He should have long healed by that time, but he hadn't even realized it before now. How could he have ever been so blind?

"You must hurry if you want to save him," pleaded the voice.

For the final time, Undertaker turned around to face the original wall, but things had changed. There was a tiny nail that had been driven crookedly into the wood, and hanging from that nail was a pair of red glasses hanging on a rather distinctive chain. The lenses were cracked and smeared with blood. "Grell!" he cried.

As the name slipped past his lips, he jerked awake and found himself lying on his bed fully dressed. He could have dismissed what he had seen and heard while asleep as nothing more than a dream caused by his own stress and worry, but he knew the truth. Grell was just in as much danger in the reaper realm as he had been here, perhaps even more so, and he had to move if he was going to save the redhead.

He jumped to his feet as he mentally called his scythe. It materialized in his outstretched hand and he was just about to create a portal when he heard someone behind him.

"What's wrong?" a voice asked, and Undertaker was thankful that he could identify this voice as belonging to William. Not even bothering to disguise his scythe, he turned to face him.

"It's Grell," replied Undertaker, "He's in trouble."

"He should be quite safe," William answered, "One of my most reliable agents is looking after him at the moment, and I plan to go and get him later. Besides, he's in the reaper realm." Undertaker saw William's eyes dart quickly towards the death scythe before traveling back to his face, but the dispatch supervisor held his tongue.

"That's the problem," Undertaker insisted. He stomped over towards William and held out the piece of cobbled weapon under his nose. Undertaker didn't know if he had actually carried the item with him when he had went to sleep or if it had somehow appeared in his grasp during his dream, but he honestly didn't care either way. For now, it was the best way to show William the full extent of the problem. "This is made with shards of a scythe," he explained, "That's why I still have traces of the cut on my face, and why Grell's injury was so severe. Those men from the cult had these. They had weapons made from the same material as our scythes, Will."

"But the only ones who have access to the raw material for scythes are…" William's voice trailed as his eyes grew wide as the truth suddenly became very clear. "We have to get back to Grell. I left him with Humphries. Let me create the portal and I can take you right to his apartment."

Undertaker nodded, but he didn't think William even noticed as he immediately set about creating the portal. He hadn't even realized how much William obviously cared for Grell until that moment, although he had always had his suspicions. There was no time to speculate this as William created the portal and they both rushed through, Undertaker still carrying his scythe. He knew what the penalty would be if he was caught with his deadly old friend, but at this moment he was too concerned about Grell to consider the matter. Undertaker let William take the lead since he knew the way and they hurried to a nearby apartment.

"Humphries!" William shouted, banging on the door with his fist, "Humphries, open up!" There was no response or even the sound of stirring coming from inside the locked door. "Humphries!" William cried again, but everything remained silent.

"Move aside, Will," Undertaker said. Normally, he was quite a patient individual, but this was not a time for patience. He rammed the door with his shoulder and heard the wood splinter as the lock was tore away from the frame. Because of reaper strength, the locks on their apartments were far stronger than those humans typically used, but even this reinforced lock was no match for a worried ancient. Pushing aside the now useless door, they stepped inside to an open and typically welcoming living room.

Undertaker's breath caught in his throat. Two reapers lay on the carpeted floor amidst a shower of broken glass that undoubtedly came from a nearby shattered window where a gauzy curtain floated almost serenely in the breeze. William hurried over to the smaller of the two reapers, the one that Undertaker assumed was Humphries although he had never actually met him before, and the brown haired man seemed to be slowly regaining consciousness. His recovery, however, was not what concerned Undertaker at this moment as he quickly looked around the apartment. Nothing else seemed to be out of place, but there was something very important that appeared to missing.

"Where's Grell?" he demanded as he stepped back into the living room.

The young looking brunette glanced up at him as he rubbed the back of his head with his hand. The taller reaper had also regained consciousness and was now standing, although his legs still looked a bit shaker. "I don't know," the younger man answered, "Someone shattered the window and pumped some sort of strange gas in here. I saw Grell lying on the floor just before I passed out, but that's the last thing I remember."

"I saw a man in a robe," offered the other one, "but only for a second."

William stood quickly. "Slingby, get Humphries down to hospital. In fact, both of you need to be checked out. Do you have a directory here?"

Slingby looked confused, but quickly retrieved the directory, which listed the addresses of everyone within the reaper realm, from a nearby drawer.

"What are you doing?" Undertaker asked.

"I have to find where Hargreaves lives," William replied, taking the directory and flipping through the pages.

"Hargreaves?"

"He's that unpleasant fellow that came to see you in my apartment earlier," answered William, "And I think he's also a big part of this cult. He kept insinuating that you were the one behind it, like he was trying to divert suspicion, and he was also the one who insisted that Grell be watched by someone here." William ripped a page out of the directory and ran to the door. "Slingby, get moving and take Humphries to the hospital!" he shouted. Apparently the other two had been watching the whole scene unfold in too much apparent amazement to move. William turned back to Undertaker. "Follow me," he directed.

William soon disappeared out of the door and Undertaker followed as they ran down another street. The apartments down this way were larger and more elaborate, and Undertaker assumed they were getting close. "There's one other thing that makes me think that Hargreaves has something to do with this," William said as they ran.

"What's that?"

"Hargreaves left me a note at the office," replied William, "instructing me to take your scythe. He said in the letter that he knew that you still had it, and I had just assumed that he meant that no one had bought the story that you had lost it. However, you said that you had 'sliced' the man who had laid his hands on Grell – and I assume by sliced you meant that you attacked with you scythe. I bet that's how Hargreaves knew you had your scythe. I think he's part of this cult, and he knew that you still had your scythe because you had cut one of the members with it." He shook his head as he turned down another street. "For all we know, the man you cut was Hargreaves himself."

Soon they reached the apartment that, according to the directory, should be Hargreaves residence. William slammed his fist against the door a few times without gaining a response, and he was the one to break the door this time so that they could enter the apartment.

Inside was a chaotic mess of papers, pieces of scythes, along with various beakers and vials. Undertaker couldn't imagine what it would even be like living in such conditions as he could barely see the furniture underneath the mess. William began looking through the papers, probably trying to figure out where Hargreaves had gone, but Undertaker's focus was solely captured by a small object lying on the floor.

It was a single, brown boot – a simple piece child's footwear, and one that had been just a bit too big on Grell's tiny foot.

"There some notes here," William said, "About some group he refers to as Ambrosia."

"The man yelled something about drinking the ambrosia," Undertaker mumbled to himself as he picked the shoe up from the floor. "He has Grell," he growled.

William looked at the boot before he raised his eyes hesitantly to the Undertaker's face. "There's something here about sacrificing the child reaper," he said, "I think he's gone back to the mortal realm to meet up with that cult." He paused for a moment as if he had a bit of trouble putting his next thought into words. "If what these notes say is true then he's going to kill Grell."

Undertaker felt the rage surge thought him, and for the first time in over a century the full extent of his power manifested in a physical display and began to ripple around his form. Papers and trash picked up from the floor and twisted about him, and the voice he heard slip pass his clenched teeth didn't even sound like his own.

"Grell is not the one who's going to die."

((X))

Frederick stood behind the altar, smiling as he tightened the robes around his small captive's feet as the redhead slowly began to regain consciousness. "It's almost time. It's almost time." The child began to kick, but his legs were now immobilized, and Frederick moved to wrap rope around his upper arms and chest.

Grell suddenly sat up and made a move to sink his sharp teeth into Frederick's hand – again, but Frederick was prepared this time. He jerked his hand back, balled it up into a fist, and struck the young reaper as hard as he could in the face. Grell cried out in pain, the fair skin of his upper cheek turning red with an undertone of purple that would surely turn into a nasty bruise. Rather, it would have turned into a nasty bruise given time, but Grell would be dead long before that could happen. He was their sacrifice, and his death would make his dream a reality.

All reapers were going to die.

He tightened the ropes around the narrow shoulders of his juvenile captive, who had begun to cry. The tears of a child didn't move his heart or give him any reason to pause. At one point, he had been a field agent so he had seen lots of children crying as he gathered the records of their parents and siblings. He had even seen the children crying for themselves as they gasped in a vain attempt to take that one final breath, so tears had no meaning or significance to him. This was especially true for the tears of a reaper. No matter how tiny, all reapers were inherently corrupt and they all deserved to die. This was true for himself, and it was true for all of the reapers.

"Reapers deserve to die," he said to Grell, running his hand through the scarlet hair in a mock loving fashion. "I didn't understand this at first, and I don't expect you to comprehend it either, but your death will bring about great changes. Be happy in that your existence held some purpose."

He stepped away, a strange, twisted smile curling about his face. "When I received my last promotion," he began, "I was given the chance to view my own cinematic records of when I had been human. All reapers who reach that level of authority and power are given this chance, but it is a test. Human couldn't resist such a chance to learn about some past life, so it's a test to see how far we moved past humanity. Almost everyone says no at first. We want to prove that we have moved beyond the flawed, mortal creatures we once were, but the temptation is just too great. In the end, everyone looks. Do you want to know what I found when I did look at my own record?"

Grell softly whimpered, his luminescent eyes pleading with Frederick to release him, but the older reaper only took the whimper as an agreement to listen. "I was a doctor when I was human, and a rather good one at that. I was quickly promoted and I soon found myself as the head of surgery. Money was flowing, and I was the envy of the town. I had it all, including a pretty, young wife. She had hair the color of corn silk and her eyes were the palest, softest blue. The men who didn't envy me for my job or my money, envied me for having such a beautiful wife. However, she didn't seem as happy as me about my promotion. She made complaints about pain in her side and not feeling like eating. I wasn't all that worried at first. I did notice that she had a fever, but it was only a slight one. Honestly, I thought she was just trying to get my attention because I was at home so rarely. One night, she said she was feeling particularly bad and she begged me to stay home, but there was a banquet being held by the hospital. I wanted to advance even more, so I left my sick wife at home to attend, and I had a wonderful evening. I left knowing that very soon, I receive my next promotion. I think I was even whistling a tune when I returned home, only to find my wife had died."

He summoned his scythe and walked back over to Grell, holding the instrument just inches above his chest, and laughing softly at the terrified way his green eyes grew big. "Everyone always wonder why they were chosen to be a reaper after their death. Most think that maybe there was something special or different, but I learned that wasn't the case at all. There was nothing special about me at all. In fact, I learned that all reapers are simply people that, while they weren't necessarily bad or evil, still weren't permitted to enter Heaven because of some little thing that they did or didn't do in their life. Being a reaper is like a second chance to determine whether you truly belong in Heaven or should be condemned to Hell." He took a few steps back, but kept the edge of his scythe dangerously close to Grell.

"That's when I broke one very important rule among those who are allowed to view their past," he finally continued, "I researched to see if I had any descendants, and I did. A girl, she would have been a distant granddaughter. When I found her in the living world, I discovered that she looked so much like the wife I had lost. I became determined to protect her in some attempt to make up for how I had treated my wife, but I learned that she was so slated to die. I tried to have an exception made, and I even lied about her merit. At first, my request was approved but, when the high council learned I had deceived them, it was denied and she died as scheduled. Her death wasn't the end, oh no, there was more thing that would be done to her." His lips pulled back from his teeth, and he brought the edge of scythe down enough so the tip brought a drop of blood to the surface to stain Grell's shirt. The thought, the memory, of what had been done to his descendant brought him to the edge of his sanity, but he was no longer teetering on the edge. He was ready to jump over fully.

"Reapers' jobs are to collect souls," he growled, "and they will do so until the end. However, once all humans' souls are collected, the reapers themselves will also began to die. They will be forced to reap one another until only one is standing. I don't know for certain, but I think that one will be forced to end his own life. Oh, I truly hope that is how it all plays out. However, I am not a patient enough man to wait for Armageddon to bring about the end to all the accursed reapers. No, the end of the reapers will come when there are no more human souls to collect. This will happen on Judgment Day, but it would also come about if humans became immortal." He laughed bitterly. "And that's what I'm going to do here. It's not that I care if the humans live or die, but this is merely a method for me to achieve all my goals. And you're going to help me. Isn't that nice?"

Outside, Frederick could hear a soft chant that was slowly growing in volume. His mindless sheep was coming, so the time had come. It was beginning of the reaper apocalypse. Carefully, he pulled the hood of his robe over his head and dropped his head to mask his features and threw a black cloth over Grell. Gone was Frederick Hargreaves, and in his place stood Asclepius, which was a fitting name for him. Asclepius, the Greek god of medicine and healing, whose image of a serpent entwined staff was still used proudly by doctors to advertise their trade.

It was all as it should be.

((X))

The followers of Asclepius and drinkers of the mythical ambrosia that was said to bring about eternal life walked in a slow procession in a single file line as they chanted. Asclepius had promised them that this would be the night they would taste of the nectar. While this had been promised before, they still clung to his words like a rope that was dangling them precariously above a deep ravine. Death was waiting at the bottom of that ravine, but Asclepius had promised to bring them to the safe, solid ground of eternal life.

At least, that was what Sebastian had gathered from listening to their conversations.

The demon, also wearing a robe like those fools, was currently walking in the rear of the line, but none of the others had seemed to even notice his presence. They were apparently too caught up in the promises that this night might hold. Sebastian inwardly laughed at their desperation, although it was desperation that was usually the very thing that demons could depend when dealing with humans. He also couldn't understand why most humans feared death so completely. While the prospect of dying didn't sound particularly appealing to him, he wasn't terrified of it either.

Ciel was walking beside him, which did make Sebastian at least a little apprehensive. After all, the boy was his biggest weakness, especially with the way he always managed to find himself in some dangerous predicament. He would have preferred for Ciel to stay behind, but the young earl was already annoyed with staying in the inferior conditions he felt he had been forced to endure in the closest lodging, so he was in no mood to be left behind. He was also wearing one the heavy cloaks, but his small statue made him stand out. Sebastian was rather glad that these foolish cultists were so blinded by their own desires they couldn't see what was so obvious. As they walked, a decaying church came into view and it was obvious it was their destination.

"I could always destroy the church once they are all inside," Sebastian offered, "It looks as though the building is already fragile."

"I'm not going to take a chance that this cult leader, the one they call Asclepius, is not there. He is the one we're really after, and I'm not going to be made a fool of this time. No, we are going to go in and make sure this this is the real leader, and then you will put an end to him. Do you understand, Sebastian?"

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian immediately replied.

They followed the other cult members into the church through the crumbling threshold. They took a seat on the very last pew that hadn't collapsed on itself as Sebastian took a quick look around. There were steps leading up to an upstairs that had mostly deteriorated into non-existence. The bottom and top of the staircase had fallen away, but the middle was still firmly anchored to the wall and was almost hidden by the shadows. It would be a safe place for Ciel if it was needed.

At the head of the church was the altar, but a heavy black cloth had been cast over it, and another robed figure stood nearby. Sebastian had no idea if this was truly Asclepius, but he was playing the part at the very least. As Sebastian watched, the robed man stepped forward and raised his hands and all murmurs immediately ceased.

"Tonight," the man intoned, "We take our first steps into immortality. The child is here and he is the key. We shall drink of his life so that our life may never cease. Drink of the ambrosia!"

"Drink of the ambrosia!" the others shouted in unison.

"Now, see the child who shall bring everlasting life to you all!" shouted the man as he leaned forward and whipped off the black cloth.

Very little surprised Sebastian, but the child version of the annoying red reaper strapped to the altar of some crazy cult managed to do just that. Grell could only move a little bit, but he turned his head towards the crowd and the candlelight caused the twin tears in his eyes to glisten like jewels. He cried weakly, and strained against his restraints – no doubt hoping that someone here might help him, but Sebastian didn't think he would find anyone sympathetic in this crowd.

Before Sebastian could really consider the matter, he sensed that there were two reapers heading this way. One of the two really caught his attention for he had only sensed him one other time before, and that was on the Campania. Undertaker kept his power hidden for most of the time, but Sebastian could feel it now rolling towards them like a destructive tsunami. He could sense the anger radiating in that power, and he suddenly had no desire to be in enraged reaper's path.

Moving far too fast for any of the human eyes to see, he suddenly grabbed Ciel and jumped to middle section of the stairs he had noticed earlier. Holding to the boy tightly, he kept his attention focused on the doorway.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ciel demanded, but his voice was cut off when the door of the church, which had only recently been shut, was suddenly blown inward.

Sebastian smiled to himself as his eyes began to glow. So, it had begun.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Battles and Resolutions**

**A/N: This chapter was short, but I had the worst time writing it. I've been having a touch of writer's block along with health issues. Just one more chapter of this story left! It will be short since I originally planned to include it in this chapter, but I know I had waited too long to update.**

Frederick didn't understand why things never seemed to work out the way he had planned. Oh, he was so careful and so meticulous. It was one of his more defining character traits, but lately it seemed that no matter how carefully he planned, something unexpected occurred. As his loyal, or rather, as Asclepius' loyal followers slowly made their way into the church, he was prepared to finally to put the final pieces of the puzzles into place. The humans would be immortal which in turn would lead to the end of all reapers.

(It won't work! There is no way that humans can ever be immortal while still occupying mortal bodies. They may be chosen to become immortals after death, but it can never happen while their alive.)

He squeezed his eyes shut as he rubbed his temple in an attempt to drown out the voice. He had no idea why he had let doubts enter his mind. After all, this was going to work. He was Asclepius. No, he was Frederick Hargreaves; a high ranking reaper and Greek god of medicine and healing. Actually, that was just a story so those fools would follow him. He was not Greek. He had been a doctor once and the snake entwined staff was the symbol of the medical profession. It was a symbol of Asclepius, but he was not Asclepius. He had just been a career driven human who had died and chosen to become a worthless reaper.

And all reapers deserved to die – especially one in particular.

His followers were just outside the door, but just he was prepared to show his true self, he sensed that a demon was among them. Quickly, he transformed the appearance of his scythe to that of a humble staff, which he laid behind the altar, and covered Grell with a black cloth. His own cloak was in place, so there was a chance that demon had no idea of his true identity. Standing quietly, he watched as the loyal fools walked inside and made their way to the uncomfortable pew to take a seat. As he might have expected, the demon was the last one to enter, and Frederick allowed himself to smile slightly behind the safety of his low hooded cloak. This demon was known to him, and he had no doubt that the small cloaked figure with him was the boy who contracted this demon. Now that everyone was inside, he stepped forward and raised his hands, which was the signal for everyone to be quiet.

"Tonight," he began, "We take our first steps into immortality. The child is here and he is the key. We shall drink of his life so that our life may never cease. Drink of the ambrosia!"

"Drink of the ambrosia!" cried his followers.

"Now, see the child who shall bring everlasting life to you all!" he shouted as quickly whipped off the black cloth. The unnaturally young reaper was now in plain view of all of them, and Frederick could have sworn that even the demon looked surprised. However, before Frederick could continue, he sensed that two reapers were on their way. The demon must have sensed it as well as he moved quickly to remove his child master from harm, and Frederick realized that the final battle was finally upon them. He had no time to concoct the final formula for immortality. Now, it was time to fight.

As the door blew inward, he had already transformed his scythe back to its usual form as he positioned himself behind Grell. If he was going to die in this battle, he wasn't going to be the only one.

((X))

William and Undertaker stepped through the portal, and the ancient quickly whirled about as his eyes scanned the area. His eyes were visible, and seemed to glow with an inner fire and strength that hadn't been in full for far too long. The silver hair spun with his movements before cascading down shoulders draped in the darkest of blacks. This was the legend and the one spoke about in hushed tones in the most fantastic of tales of both man and reaper. Despite the dire situation, William couldn't help but feel a little awed to be standing next to such a power. He did his best not to let this show as he calmly lifted his hand and held out his finger sideways.

"Where are they?" Undertaker growled.

William didn't answer verbally at first as he waited. Soon, a plump pigeon with a note tied about its leg landed on his finger. Quickly, William untied the note and read it. "I had agents watching this area," he explained, "Just in case something like this happened. They were instructed to watch known cult members."

Undertaker blinked a few times before smiling slightly. "I didn't know you were so prepared, Willy," he said, "I'm impressed."

William only hoped that the burning sensation he felt in his cheeks didn't mean he was blushing as he pointed down the road. "They're this way," he said, "in an old, abandoned church."

The elder reaper only nodded in response, as the two hurried away. Since they didn't know they precise location, they couldn't create a portal, but soon the church's sagging roof came into view, and William felt a touch of relief. Hopefully, there was still time to save Grell. Undertaker's face didn't looked relieved, however, for his expression was one of intense determination. His power was crackling about his form again, and it manifested in a gush of heated wind as they reached the front of the church; blowing the doors open forcefully.

Inside cloaked figures were standing and moving away – the visible parts of their faces transformed into masks of terror. At the head of the church, Frederick was standing behind an alar where Grell had been tied. It appeared that Grell might have sustained minor injuries, but he seemed to be okay as he turned to look in their direction with terrified eyes. As William surveyed the scene, a putrid smell assaulted his nostrils that he recognized immediately as a demon. Looking around, he quickly spotted that vile creature that Grell often chased after so ardently, and he felt his anger rise even more. This definitely complicated matters.

"These are the ones who have come to steal your immortality!" Frederick suddenly shouted to the startled people in the pews. "They are here to dump the precious ambrosia on the ground, just as I warned. You must stop them for the sake of all humanity!"

There was a brief moment of hesitation, but then the crowd moved all at once. William recognized that Frederick knew that he'd hesitate to kill anyone not on the to-die list, but that's when William suddenly realized something. Frederick's office was the last one to review the to-do list before it was handing down to him, and he was in the perfect position to altar these lists. There had been no one to reap the night that Grell had been turned into a child. It had all been a trap, but William had no idea why Frederick would do such a thing.

The foolish people advanced towards them as William weighed his options. It was acceptable to kill if it was necessary to do a job, but this was not an assignment. Besides, there were always questions to be answered, and William felt sure he could handle these poor fools without having to resort to fatal tactics.

Undertaker, on the other hand, didn't want to see to wait. He leapt high into the air, above all the people and heading straight for Frederick. The ancient's weapon gleamed in the fading light that filtered like flimsy sheets of paper through the cracks in the ceiling. Frederick didn't move away as he fully revealed his own scythe. It was shaped much like the traditional scythe used by Undertaker, except it had a smaller blade attached to each end of the staff with its curved blades turned in opposite directions. He positioned himself, as if he was going to fight, but then suddenly looked down and stabbed one of the blades directly into Grell's chest. The diminutive reaper cried out in pain as blood stained his white shirt. From the wound, his cinematic records shot out and wrapped about Undertaker.

The ancient immediately dropped; careful not to allow his scythe to cut any of the frames since it could cause irreparable damage to Grell. Frederick smiled, and it was apparent he thought he had Undertaker right where he wanted him. Meanwhile, William had been pushing, punching, and kicking his way to the front of the church just as he saw Frederick drawn his scythe back so that he could deliver the final blow to Grell.

Undertaker moved so quickly that he was a blur even to William. He jumped forward and cut away the ropes that held Grell. Even with all of Grell's feelings and memories flooding his mind, he was still able to grab the redhead and quickly leap through a rear window to relative safety. William was thankful, and most of the humans were now falling back in fear as they watched the battle. Readying his own scythe, William lunged towards Frederick, but suddenly a silver knife slashed through the air and almost clipped his ear. More silverware had been tossed at Frederick, who had also managed to dodge the utensils. Sebastian landed on the altar with a catlike grace and offered William a cynical smile. "Stay out this, demon," William stated firmly, adjusting his glasses out of habit.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't do that," Sebastian replied in his mock civilized tone, "My master has ordered to kill this man, so that is what I shall do."

Frederick apparently had no interest in their conversation as he swung his scythe – aiming one of the dual blades at each of them. The reaper's apparent insanity seemed to give him unnatural strength, even for their kind, and William realized just how dangerous this situation had become.

((X))

Undertaker could hear the noises from inside the church, but all of his attention was turned towards Grell who was lying motionless on the ground before him. The redhead was uncommonly pale and was lying as motionless as a stone. He was still alive but only barely.

The ancient winced slightly as the records continued to wrap about him and invade his mind. Grell's memories were as colorful as he was, but Undertaker saw for the first time the vulnerability beneath the flamboyant and just how Grell had viewed himself. As he was considering this, the retired reaper noticed something unusual. A piece of what appeared to be a fragment of a scythe had been stuck through sections of the record, pinning the frames together. Undertaker realized that was how Frederick had made Grell turn into a child in the first place, and he cautiously removed the fragment.

The effect was immediate. The records released Undertaker as soon as the pin had been removed and shot into the air briefly before returning into Grell's body. The wound made by Frederick's scythe healed as suddenly Grell grew and regained his adult form.

The red reaper's eyes flew open as he blinked about nearsightedly and looked up at Undertaker. "What's going on here?" he demanded. As he spoke, he glanced down and realized that he was just wearing his shirt, which only barely covered his hips and groin. With a gasp, he quickly grabbed his the tail of the shirt and try to pull it down to avoid exposing himself. "You fiend!" he exclaimed, "Were you trying to take advantage of a lady while she was sleeping?"

Undertaker chuckled as he quickly removed his robe and wrapped it about Grell. The buttons didn't go down all the way, but it would provide a little more coverage. Grell quickly buttoned it as he continued to glare at the ancient. "It's nothing like that," Undertaker replied. A crash inside suddenly erupted and both turned to look towards the church. "But this isn't the time for an explanation," he added quickly before jumping back through the broken window, and Grell followed.

Inside, both Sebastian and William were fighting Frederick, who was amazingly keeping both at bay, while demon and William occasionally focused attacks with one another as well. Grell looked at the scene the best he could without his glasses as a confused look crossed over his features. "Is that Will and…" his voice trailed off as he used his other senses to identify the different scents and auras, "…and Sebastian? Who is that they're fighting?"

Before Undertaker could reply, three more reapers ran into the room through the open door. The ancient recognized them as Ronald and the two had been watching Grell when Frederick had kidnapped him.

"Hey Senior!" Ronald yelled, "We got these fixed for you!" He threw Grell's newly repaired glasses towards them, which Undertaker caught and handed over to Grell. The red smiled brightly as he maneuvered the chain beneath his long hair and positioned the glasses on his nose.

"Much better," Grell said, as his chainsaw appeared in his grasp and roared to life.

"Wait," Frederick said, taking a step back, "This wasn't how this was supposed to go. All reapers are supposed to die. All the reapers -" His voice suddenly ended in a choke when Undertaker's scythe stabbed through his body and sliced through it completely with a clean motion. It was a wound that no one could have survived, and Frederick was dead before he even his the floor in two separate pieces.

A distant part of Undertaker's mind recognized that Sebastian had left, taking Ciel with him. Since they had only been interested in ending the cult, they undoubtedly thought that their job here had been completed, but he didn't really want to focus on that as Frederick's nearly endless records spilled into the room. Without a word, they all watched until the records were nearly at an end, but no one was quite prepared for what was to be revealed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Records and Final Stories**

The room the High Council met in was a large, domed shaped room was only a minimal amount of light. Each time William stood in this room to give a report, he felt almost as if he was on trial. He knew such thoughts were foolishness, and he mentally chastised himself for such an irrational fear, but he couldn't deny the fear's existence. Outwardly, he showed no signs of distress and he didn't falter in his stance as he stood before them in that shadowed room. He adjusted his glasses briefly as he continued.

"After viewing his own cinematic record, Hargreaves felt that he needed to make amends for what he determined had been the mistreatment of his wife," William explained, "He found a descendant, and he fancied that this girl looked like his wife. When he discovered that she was slated to die soon, he petitioned that she be allowed to live by given an exaggerated account of her impact on human history. This petition was initially accepted but later denied when his deception was brought to light."

"I remember well that case," the head speaker of the High Council intoned, "Hargreaves received an official reprimand which would have hindered further advance of his career."

William nodded slightly. "After it was ruled this girl would die as scheduled, Hargreaves continued to watch her. He saw her die, but that wasn't the end of her story." Here he paused because he knew the council would not like his next statement. "After her death, she was made into a bizarre doll by Undertaker."

Despite their normally emotionless façade, William heard a sharp intake of breath from the council members as they began to mummer among themselves. It sounded like thunder from a distant storm, and William braced himself for their next words. The bizarre dolls were still a rather touchy subject and not one the council wished to have a reminder.

"So, Hargreaves was after revenge against this rogue we now refer to as Undertaker?" the speaker finally asked.

William resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief that they had not pressed the matter further. "Yes, sir," he answered, "At first Hargreaves did all he could to make sure that Undertaker was punished fully. When he saw that the ancient was not going to be put to death for his crimes, he decided to seek revenge in another way. Hargreaves set up this fake cult he called Ambrosia with the intention of framing Undertaker. He thought if he could have us believe that Undertaker was killing humans again, we would have no choice but to put an end to his existence."

"So where did Sutcliff fit into all of this?" asked the speaker as he leaned forward so that the meager light played on his glasses.

"That was all simply by chance," William answered, "Hargreaves had discovered by pinning part of a reaper's cinematic records with a piece of a scythe, they would appear to turn into a young child. He would use this to convince the cult members her really had the power to give them eternal youth. He manipulated the To Die list so that it would seem several people were to perish and one under mysterious circumstances. In fact, everyone in that church was already dead, the subsequent explosion eradicated their bodies. Hargreaves meant to lure a reaper there, but the fact that the reaper was Sutcliff was merely a coincidence. Hargreaves' cinematic records didn't show him having any sort of grudge against Sutcliff.

He had told his followers that he was giving them a formula for immortality, but in his growing insanity, he seemed to grow to believe his own lies. He thought he was this Greek god. That's why he didn't just take Sutcliff from the beginning. He had waited for the cult members, but Undertaker happened to arrive before them. Hargreaves had known he was in the area. He had been the one to encourage the girl to beg for his services, but he had expected Undertaker to take in the child version of Sutcliff."

The council members whispered among themselves as the speaker stared at William intently. "What was Hargreaves really trying to do here? You say that he had started to believe his own lies. Did he really believe he had the secret to immortality?"

"According to his records, he believed that very thing," replied William, "Because of what he perceived to be his own failings with his wife, he thought that all reapers were like him and deserved to die. He assumed that if humans were immortal, there would be no point to reapers, and we would simply die. It appears that he had actually convinced himself that Sutcliff's records, blood, and a few other ingredients were all he needed to make such a formula. Of course, what he was attempting was impossible. Even if he had just tried to pin these humans' records as he had Sutcliff, it would have killed them. When we arrived, he already had Sutcliff tied to an altar. He stabbed Sutcliff with his scythe and attacked me. He seemed intent to kill all of those who were there, including himself."

Again William paused as he struggled with how exactly to frame his next words. "Hargreaves was threatening the lives of multiple humans, myself, and Sutcliff. Undertaker made the decision to put an end to his life, and I agree with his decision. I do not think Hargreaves could have been captured without mortal injury nor do I think he could have been reformed."

"We will make the final decision on that, Spears," admonished the speaker, "If you are finished giving your report, you may go. We have much to discuss here."

"Yes, sir," William said and he quickly turned to leave. He felt much calmer as soon as he left their chamber, but there was still a lot on his mind. For the most part, Grell seemed to be mostly back to normal despite his ordeal, although he was still on temporary leave in case he needed more time to recover. Still, there was something about all this that still nagged at William's mind. When he had to deal with the possibility that Grell might have to simply grow up again, or that Grell might be lost to him forever, he had realized how much he would have missed the redhead. It wasn't in William's nature to be open or emotional, but he really did need to have a serious talk with Grell at the first opportunity.

((X))

Undertaker's shop was quiet and empty, but this was only the second time that he could remember feeling alone in quite some time. He had lost track of the many years he had been in this little shop, and there had been many times he had physically been alone, but he had never really felt lonely until only recently. Maybe he had just never thought about how good it was it hear another voice echoing on the dusty walls.

Almost as if on cue, the door opened and the tinkling of the bell echoed through his shop happily. Immediately putting on his creepy, old man mask, he turned to face his visitor, but he dropped the disguise when he saw that it was Grell. "My dear," he greeted, "Why this is a present surprise. Please come in and have a seat."

Grell's smile widened at the ancient's words, but it was tempered with something that Undertaker would guess was trepidation and uncertainty. The retired reaper had noticed these emotions on the ginger's face in the past, but it was more obvious than usual today. "A lady could get used to a greeting like that," he said as he sat down on a nearby coffin, "It's too bad not everyone is as much as a gentleman as you."

Undertaker returned the smile as he walked over. "It's only proper to treat a lady as a lady," he said, "So, tell me, how are you doing?"

Grell shrugged lightly, but that uneasy look still remained in his eyes. "Fine," he answered, "I don't even know why they won't let me go back to work. I'm not complaining about having some time off, but I hate being told what to do even if it is to take a vacation."

Undertaker chuckled. "As stubborn as always," he said, but then he paused. It was obvious that Grell wanted to say something else, although he seemed to be at a loss for words. "What is it?" he asked gently.

"Nothing," Grell mumbled, "It's just that…they're making me see a therapist."

"Because of what happened?"

Grell nodded as he slowly raised his eyes to look at Undertaker. "I've lost some of my memories," he admitted.

"Where Frederick pinned them," Undertaker guessed, "What have you forgotten?"

A short, bitter laugh was the initial response. "If I could tell you that, then the memories wouldn't have been forgotten," answered Grell, but then the redhead sighed. "I don't know what it is that I don't remember exactly. I haven't ran into anyone I don't recognize or been asked a question that I don't remember the answer to. It's just more of a feeling that's something's…missing. It's like there's holes in my memory." Grell looked down at his hands. He had removed his gloves and was staring down at his manicured nails. "It's not a very good feeling," he finally admitted.

Undertaker sat down next to him and put his hand on Grell's smaller ones. "I don't know what that would feel like, but I can guess it wouldn't be pleasant. Has anyone said if there's any way to repair your memories?"

Grell shook his head, his downcast eyes staring at Undertaker's hand upon his own. "The scythe fragment damaged those frame of my cinematic record permanently," he replied, "Even if I'm told what it is that I've forgotten, I'll have to create a new memory."

"I'm sorry, my dear," Undertaker said.

Grell's mouth curled slightly in a smile as he finally raised his eyes to look at Undertaker. "But it's not all bad," he continued, "New memories are trying to fill those holes. I can remember something about a small pair of brown shoes. Rather ugly shoes as I recall."

Undertaker threw back his head and laughed as relief flooded his mind. "You always were a picky, little thing when it came to your attire."

"I also remember a story about these nine brothers who wanted a little sister. They had left because they thought their mother had another son or something."

"Well that's because the witch tricked them into thinking the child was a boy," Undertaker explained.

"How did the witch do that?"

With a smile, the ancient launched into the story once again as Grell listened as intently as he had as a child. As he talked, Undertaker couldn't help but think that this was exactly what this old place had been missing all along. There had been many laughs had in this small shop, but sometimes laughter is only truly enjoyed when it can be shared. He continued with the story and he certainly hoped that this wouldn't be Grell's last visit.

((X))

Frederick had proven to be quite the disappointment. It was so easy to manipulate his memories and emotions. He had played the part of a dutiful puppet well, but the fool had convinced himself that this was all his idea just a bit too much. He had acted on his own, and he had failed.

In the darkened room, a shadowed figure sat as he contemplated all that had happened. Soon, he will have a new plan in place. He had erased Frederick's memories to the point that he had even shown up in his cinematic records, so he still had his opportunity.

After all, the fools thought Undertaker had been his the real target.

The End

Sorry this took so long to finish. Just one note, I did purposely leave the ending open. I may just have a sequel planned.


End file.
